


Hope

by charlesdk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Childhood Friends, Derek Hale Needs a Hug, Derek-centric, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Farmer Derek Hale, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Minor Cora Hale/Lydia Martin, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, POV Derek Hale, Pansexual Derek Hale, Warning: Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesdk/pseuds/charlesdk
Summary: Derek lets his eyes drift down, slowly but only for a moment. He tells himself that it's to get a proper look of him and hopefully place why this guy looks so familiar, but he can't fool himself. It's partially a lie.The man is obviously in shape, strong build underneath the well fitting button up he's wearing. There's a badge hanging from a chain around his neck and–Oh. Oh no.“Derek Hale?” the man asks, breaking the silence.“Yeah,” Derek answers, slowly and cautiously.“Special agent Stiles Stilinski with the FBI,” the man, whose name is apparently Stiles, says and lifts his badge briefly. “You got a minute?”OR; For the past twelve years, Derek Hale has lived in constant fear and without a sliver of hope, drowning in guilt and grief that he hasn't been allowed to properly deal with. Then one day, an old friend shows up on his doorstep with news that only adds to the pain. But things, as they say, get worse before they get better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I have a thing for giving my favorite characters a farm and a dog.

There's something unsettling about opening your eyes on a brand new day and knowing, deep in your gut, that something is wrong. Despite the light shining in through the bit of space between the closed curtains and the birds chirping outside, that gut feeling only makes you see the gray clouds looming in the distance, warning for danger.

Ever since the fire that took away most of his family and the house he used to call home, Derek has had numerous days starting out exactly like this. This deep, nauseating feeling of something being wrong is a painfully familiar one to him and all it brings is fear, anxiety, and paranoia.

This feeling has never really been gone for long, never had the chance to fully disappear because every single time things started to settle down around him, another bad thing happened to disturb the calm and peace that he has only ever been allowed to touch with the tips of his fingers.

The fire started it all and then his uncle Peter was next, never making it out of his comatose state in the hospital that the fire had put him in. Ever since then, Derek hasn't had a single peaceful night or day, this feeling of wrong an ever present thing.

Peter died– _was killed_ nearly twelve years ago now and the murders haven't stopped since, so Derek is more than familiar with waking up to this bad feeling in his gut, telling him something is wrong. It has happened more times than he can count, at this point.

Usually, however, it's not quite this bad.

It takes a minute to sink in, a minute that he spends frowning up at the ceiling above him as he tries to wrap his head around this horrible feeling that is making his heart pound in his chest and his stomach drop. The second it finally registers in his head how bad it is, he instantly becomes fully awake and alert and shoots up in bed.

At Derek's sudden movement, Randy, his Belgian Malinois, startles awake and lifts his head to look at him, his tags jingling loudly where they hang from his collar. He shifts from where he's been asleep at the foot of the bed and shuffles over to him with his tail wagging, a noise close to a whine escaping him.

Randy puts his head in Derek's lap, and Derek puts a hand between his ears, petting him absently. Randy sighs contently and goes right back to sleep after a minute, while Derek frowns at the door leading out of his bedroom. It's ajar, the dim light from the hall on the other side pouring in through the crack.

Derek sits still for a couple of minutes, training his ears to listen to the quiet house. There's a flock of birds chirping somewhere in the distance outside and a car honking even further away. The house itself is quiet which is not surprising considering the time of the day. The sun has only just started rising, after all.

It's too quiet, that little, paranoid voice in his head tells him.

With a dry swallow and his heart pounding anxiously, Derek reaches up and pulls his messy braid over his shoulder. Most of his hair has, thankfully, stayed in the braid that he'd put it in the night before, like he does every other night because he's not a fan of choking on his own hair.

Isaac has, on several occasions, asked him why he doesn't just cut it if it's that much trouble to deal with. Derek never has an answer. It's a comfort thing, he supposes. Like his beard that is finally full and thick. A way to hide, if he has to.

Derek quickly undoes the braid and runs his fingers through his now loose hair a few times, before he redoes it into a bun. He secures it with the same hair tie, then gently moves Randy's head out of his lap so he can get out of bed. Already wearing sleep pants, he only grabs a sweatshirt from his closet and puts it on, tugging the sleeves down a little.

He pulls the door open and takes all of one step into the dimly lit hall before Randy jumps off the bed and comes hobbling hurriedly after him. With only three legs, his front right missing, he moves a bit slower and a bit clumsier than most but he gets by, has learned how to.

Derek doesn't wait for him, nor does he slow down. He walks down the hall on quiet feet until he makes it to the other end where the second bedroom is. As quietly as possible, he pushes the door open and sticks his head inside.

Isaac is still sound asleep in his bed, laying flat on his stomach with a leg thrown out from underneath the duvet. A soft and quiet snore fills the room, a few rays of sunshine peaking in through the curtains pulled over the windows. Everything is normal.

Derek lets out a silent sigh of relief and steps back out of the room, closing the door after him. He doesn't let himself relax though, not yet. Instead he hurries down the stairs to the ground floor of the house, Randy following after him.

His phone is charging in the living room and he nearly yanks the charger out of the socket with how quickly and roughly he grabs it. He doesn't care though, immediately going into his messages where he types and hits send before he can even read it over or think about it.

‹ To Cora, _05:36_ : You doing ok?

He waits and stares down at the screen for several long, painful minutes. He doesn't get a reply. In all honesty, he doesn't expect one either. Not because it's early for both of them but because he and Cora... well, let's just say they used to be closer.

He sends a quick message to Laura as well and doesn't get a reply there either, but he did talk to her last night so while he is worried, he's not surprised. She said she would be busy for a while and her not texting back is nothing new anyway.

Plugging his phone back in and leaving it there, Derek moves on and does a quick but thorough search through the house, only to find it empty and exactly like he had left it before going to bed.

Nothing is missing, all the doors and windows are locked, and the house is empty and quiet. But that feeling of wrong is still there, deep in his gut. It stays there, a constant presence, over the next several days and he tries to ignore it as best as he can. He tries to keep himself busy, working a few more hours than necessary on his farm and taking Randy for longer walks, but it's still not enough to distract him.

The feeling doesn't leave and it's not until nearly a week later that he finds out why.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek is spread out on the couch in the living room, a book open in his hand, when Randy suddenly lifts his head and looks toward the front door, ears perked. Derek stops reading and listens, eyes drifting to the window facing out to the front of the house.

He quickly identifies the sound of tires against the gravel outside and, when he hears a car door slamming shut almost a minute later, he closes his book and sits up properly. Randy shoots up from the floor and trots forward a few steps, barking when there's a series of knocks on the front door.

Derek puts his book down. He doesn't sigh but it's a close call, especially when the visitor knocks again, firmer this time, and Randy responds with more barking. Derek has half a mind to not answer the door but the knocking doesn't stop and neither does the barking, so he stands up and moves.

“Stay,” he orders and holds a hand out.

Randy stops barking and sits down.

Derek makes it to the front door right when the knocking finally stops. Rolling his shoulders once and taking in a breath, he unlocks the door and opens it. The second it's open, however, he freezes on the spot.

The man on the other side is tall, maybe about his own height, give or take. His face is smooth, freshly shaven with moles decorating his pale skin. His nose is cutely upturned, his lips full and pink, and his eyes are a beautiful brown with a golden undertone to them in the sunlight. His hair is a dark brown color, messy like he's been carding his fingers through it and made a lazy attempt to smooth it back down again.

He's gorgeous and he looks... vaguely familiar.

Derek lets his eyes drift down, slowly but only for a moment. He tells himself that it's to get a proper look of him and hopefully place why this guy looks so familiar, but he can't fool himself. It's partially a lie.

The man is obviously in shape, strong build underneath the well fitting button up he's wearing. There's a badge hanging from a chain around his neck and–

Oh. Oh no.

“Derek Hale?” the man asks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Derek answers, slowly and cautiously.

“Special agent Stiles Stilinski with the FBI,” the man, whose name is apparently Stiles, says and lifts his badge briefly. “You got a minute?”

Derek swallows thickly and clenches his jaw while his face falls. His heart squeezes and breaks, shattering on the way down into the pit of his stomach. He knows what this is. It isn't the first time an agent has shown up at his doorstep with that look on their face; pity and sympathy and doing a poor job at hiding it.

“Who is it this time?” he asks, voice tight.

Stiles blinks at him. “What?”

“Who died this time?” Derek clarifies.

Stiles' face smooths over and confusion is replaced by open sympathy. Derek hates it.

“Your sister,” Stiles says after a beat. “Laura.”

The world slows to a stop.

Derek takes in a deep breath through his nose and looks away. His chest hurts with grief and sorrow, his throat tight and his eyes watering, but he refuses to show it so he looks down instead, hiding it to the best of his abilities. He curls his hands, digging his blunt fingernails into the palm of his right while the left tightens its hold on the door handle.

You'd think, that after so many years of losing the people closest to him, he would be used to it by now. But Derek doubts he'll ever get used to losing his family, one by one. He and Laura may have been drifting apart over the years since the survivors of the house fire scattered, but she is– well, _was_ still his sister.

With this loss, the Hale family grows smaller. Now all that's left are him and Cora.

Derek lets out a slightly unsteady sigh and, without a word, he steps aside and silently invites Stiles inside. He leads him through the house and to the living room, barely present as he walks. His legs move on their own, carrying him forward while his head swims.

When they make it to the living room, Derek finally snaps out of it at the sound of a familiar growling. Randy is still right where he left him; sitting on the floor and facing them. He doesn't move but he does growl at the sight of a stranger, cautious.

Stiles, however, doesn't seem bothered.

“Cute dog,” he comments from beside him. “German Shepherd?”

“Belgian Malinois,” Derek corrects. “His name's Randolph but we– I call him Randy.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says and smiles at Randy.

Randy's tail starts wagging a little but he doesn't stop growling.

“Randy, down,” Derek says firmly.

Randy stops and lays down, his tail wagging across the floor. It only wags faster when Stiles walks over and crouches down a few steps from him, holding out a hand for him to sniff. Randy sniffs at him for only a moment, before he rolls over onto his back and exposes his belly.

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles says with a chuckle and reaches out to pet his belly.

Randy pants happily in response.

Derek hasn't moved, not since they made it to the living room. He can't really get himself to move, nor can he seem to get himself to look away from Stiles. There's something so familiar about him and it's bothering Derek that he can't figure out what it is.

He probably spends too much energy on it but if it keeps him from thinking about Laura, then who the hell cares?

Stiles stands after a couple of minutes and turns to him, smile in place. Derek pretends like he hasn't been staring for too long to be normal. He doesn't return the smile directed at him, although he probably should. A voice in the back of his head that vaguely resembles his mom scolds him for it.

“You've got a nice place here,” Stiles says after an awkward pause.

“Thank you,” Derek says. He pauses, then remembers his manners. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Sure,” Stiles says and sits down on one of the couches. “What 've you got to offer?”

“Water. Tea.” Derek pauses for a beat, giving Stiles a calculating look. “Might have some beer.”

“Tea would be great, thanks.”

With a stiff nod, Derek turns and walks back out of the living room, leaving Stiles and Randy alone. He heads straight for the kitchen but pauses briefly at the bottom of the stairs, glancing up at them. Last he checked, Isaac was in his room and Derek really hopes he stays there. He doesn't want him to interrupt or deal with this, too.

In the kitchen, Derek grabs a tray and starts heating up some water. He puts a good plateful of the cookies that he stress baked a couple of days ago on the tray as well as two cups with a tea bag in each.

It's when he's pouring the heated water into the cups that it suddenly hits him why Stiles looks so familiar.

When Derek was a kid and all the Hales were still alive, there had been this hyperactive, little kid who barged into their lives when Cora destroyed his sandcastle and he retaliated by wailing and throwing fistfuls of sand at both her and Derek who came to drag her away.

Mieczysław was his name. Derek remembers that because he'd spend hours upon hours trying to get the pronunciation right. It would seem that along the years, the name has changed to Stiles, however. The name may be different but the man currently sitting in his living room is most definitely the same person as the kid he remembers.

Derek doesn't remember much from his childhood, if he's being honest. Sometimes he wishes, with all of his heart, that he remembered more than he does, just so he could have a few more memories of his family. But alas, he doesn't.

What he can remember, however, is Stiles plastering himself to Derek's side and deciding they were going to be best friends forever. It's been a long time since they've seen each other – fifteen years, his brain provides him – and Stiles has grown up in a lot of ways, just like Derek has, but no amount of years could make Derek forget that face.

Grabbing the tray, Derek returns to the living room. Stiles is still on the couch where he left him, while Randy has made himself comfortable by Stiles' feet, his tail sliding across the floor in slow, lazy wags when Derek steps inside.

Stiles turns to him, meets his eyes, and smiles. Now that Derek remembers, it feels easier to smile back.

He puts the tray down on the table and sits down on the other end of the same couch that Stiles is on. Almost immediately, Randy shuffles over to lay by his feet instead, curling in on himself with a soft harrumph.

“So,” Derek says and hands Stiles a cup of tea. “Little hurricane Stilinski became an agent, huh?”

“Oh my God,” Stiles groans, taking the offered cup. “I was a kid, I can't be judged for my destructive habits.”

“I can judge you all I want when it was my sister's toys that you destroyed,” Derek says dryly. “Toys. Plural.”

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles chuckles. He takes a sip, then sobers and looks at him with a small, crooked smile pulling at his lips. “To be honest, I wasn't sure you'd remember me.”

“Of course I do,” Derek says. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Well, you know,” Stiles says and shrugs. “I wasn't really anyone special.”

Derek frowns at him. “You were to me.”

“Right back at'cha,” Stiles says and smiles this soft smile that does funny things to Derek's heart.

Huh.

Derek ignores it and takes a sip of his own cup, lifting a hand to put it on Randy's head when he decides to hop onto the couch and splay out in his lap instead.

“I'm just sorry we couldn't have met again under better circumstances,” Stiles continues, his smile turning sad.

“Yeah, me too,” Derek says quietly and sighs. “You need my alibi, right?”

“Technically, I do,” Stiles says. “But I mean, I know you had nothing to do with it. She's your sister, for fuck's sake.”

Derek nods and looks down at his own hand on Randy's head. “When did she die?” he asks.

“About a week ago.”

“And... how?”

Stiles is silent for a second. “Exsanguination.”

Derek scoffs humorlessly and looks at him. “You're telling me she bled to death.”

“I am,” Stiles says. “But I'm also not gonna go into further details, so you can forget all about asking. I know it's frustrating not knowing but–”

“No,” Derek interrupts, maybe a bit harshly. “You don't.”

Stiles looks at him, mouth closing.

“You're right,” he says. “I don't. Not really, at least. I can't even imagine it and I'm really sorry this is happening. It's not fair and I'm gonna do my best to stop this son of a bitch, alright? But I can't do that without your help, so if you could just cooperate with me, that would be great. For old time's sake, at the very lest.”

Derek is silent for a long moment, then he sighs and says, “I've got two friends who visit three times a week.”

“Names?” Stiles asks and pulls a small notebook and a pen out from his jacket pocket.

“Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd.”

“Got it,” Stiles says, scribbling them down messily. “But three times a week isn't enough for an alibi. You should know that, you're a smart guy.”

“How do you know I didn't grow up to be dumb?”

“Because the Derek Hale that I knew read history books for fun,” Stiles says and makes a face. “For _fun_ , Derek. I literally haven't met a single person who does that. My goddamn history professor in college didn't even do that and he was teaching it.”

“Well,” Derek says with a shrug. “I could've grown out of that.”

“Did you though?”

Derek pauses. “No.”

“See?” Stiles smiles and wags the pen at him. “You didn't change that much, after all.”

“Neither did you,” Derek deadpans. “You're still annoying.”

“You love it,” Stiles says and winks at him.

Derek decides to ignore the heat that rises to his face at that.

“But come on,” Stiles continues. “I actually do need your alibi for my report. I doubt it'll happen but I'm not gonna leave any possibilities of you being thrown under the bus for this, no matter how unlikely it is.”

Derek sighs. “I have a–”

A floorboard creaks, cutting Derek off. Both of them turn simultaneously toward the noise.

Isaac is standing by the door leading into the living room, a tentative look on his face and his eyes flickering from Derek to Stiles and back. His shoulders are hunched and his hair is a mess, like he's just woken up from a nap which, knowing him, wouldn't be surprising if it were actually true.

“Isaac,” Derek says firmly. “Go back to your room.”

There's a long pause where Isaac meets Derek's stern gaze with a look of his own, unconcerned because of course he is. It doesn't take long before Isaac straightens slightly and walks into the living room.

Derek makes sure to look as displeased as possible while Isaac walks over and sits down on the couch opposite them, his eyes on Stiles.

“Who's this guy?” he asks Derek without looking away.

“I'm sitting right here,” Stiles says and throws his hands out. “You can just ask me.”

Isaac blinks at him. “Who are you?”

“Special agent Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles says. “FBI.”

Isaac looks from Stiles to Derek, his face falling a little.

Derek looks away and plays with Randy's ear instead.

“And who are you?” Stiles asks.

“Isaac,” Isaac says.

“You got a last name with that, Isaac?”

Isaac pauses for a second. “Hale.”

“Lahey,” Derek says immediately after, sending Isaac a warning glare.

“Hale Lahey?” Stiles asks slowly, looking between the two.

“No,” Derek says. “Just Lahey.”

Isaac huffs and leans back on the couch, crossing his arms.

“So,” Stiles drawls. “No relation?”

“No,” Derek says.

“He's my brother,” Isaac says at the same time.

“I will kick you out of this house.”

“No, you won't.”

Derek breathes in deeply and looks at Isaac, annoyed and displeased.

Isaac looks back at him and raises his brows pointedly, like he knows he's right.

Derek hates that he is.

“You live here, Isaac?” Stiles asks, cutting in.

Derek takes his eyes off of Isaac to look at Stiles who is watching Isaac carefully, calculatingly. His instincts kick in and the need to protect is instant, his chest puffing out as he sits up a little.

Stiles may be his childhood best friend and yes, they may have been close back in the day, but Derek has dealt with a lot of agents during the last many years and he knows where this is going.

Isaac is just a kid who has nothing to do with any of this. This is exactly why Derek hoped he would stay in his room.

“Yep,” Isaac says, answering the question.

Stiles hums, nods, and asks, “How old are you?”

“He's seventeen,” Derek says and gives Stiles a look when he turns to look at him. “He's staying with me until he turns eighteen.”

“What about his parents?” Stiles asks, then quickly turns to Isaac again. “Sorry, you're in the room. Kinda rude to talk about you like you aren't, so. What about your parents?”

“Well,” Isaac says and fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt. “My mom is dead and my dad is an abusive asshole, so...”

“Abusive,” Stiles repeats with a frown. “Did you ever–”

“Mi– Stiles,” Derek interrupts, catching onto Isaac's discomfort which Stiles, apparently, doesn't. Stiles turns to look at him when Derek puts his hand on his shoulder and says, “I thought you were here to question me, not the kid living with me.”

Stiles stares at him for a long moment, then drops his eyes to Derek's hand before they drift back up to meet Derek's. Derek swallows, ignores the heat in his ears, and slowly pulls his hand off and away.

“You're right,” Stiles says, then turns to Isaac. “Sorry. I kinda have no brain-to-mouth filter.”

“That hasn't changed either,” Derek mutters dryly.

“I am trying to apologize,” Stiles says, giving Derek an offended look.

“Don't let me stop you,” Derek says. He leans back and crosses his arms, Randy grunting at the movement.

“If you could shut up for, like, one second so I can actually do it, that would be awesome.”

Derek says nothing, not until Stiles starts to turn back to Isaac. “You still haven't done it.”

“Oh my God!” Stiles exclaims and looks at him, exasperated. “How did I forget what a giant shit you are?”

Derek gives him a humorless smile and stays quiet.

“Anyway,” Stiles says pointedly and turns to Isaac with a roll of his eyes. “I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me and none of my business.”

Isaac shrugs a shoulder. “It's fine.”

“Cool,” Stiles says with a nod. He turns back to Derek, pausing for a second. “One uncomfortable subject to a worse one, then?”

Derek feels his mood shift immediately. His face falls as the light feeling from the playful banter with an old friend seeps out of him and is replaced by something heavy the second those words are out of Stiles' mouth. He shifts, swallows, and nods.

“Say the word and we'll stop,” Stiles says, voice soft. “I'm not here to dig in the fresh wound, I'm just here to help and I can't do that if you're not on board with talking right now.”

“Just ask your questions, Stiles,” Derek says. Rip off the band-aid, or whatever.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “When was the last time you talked to your sister?”

“About eight days ago, give or take,” Derek says. “She called me right before heading out of New York.”

“And you didn't think it was weird that you hadn't heard from her since?” Stiles asks. “I mean, I know I would be suspicious if I went that long without hearing from my sibling. I can't even go a couple of days without having to call my dad.”

“We're not–” Derek cuts himself off and sighs. “We weren't that close, anymore. So no, I didn't find it weird. We call each other once in a while, occasionally text too, but mostly we don't. We're separated for a reason.”

“That reason being?” Stiles asks, frowning.

Derek looks at him for a long moment. “Everyone around me gets hurt,” he says, carefully monotone.

They do, though. That's the thing. Everyone around him does end up hurt, one way or another. Paige, his whole family, everyone close to him, the list is long. Everyone is better off without him, he knows this, yet people keep finding their way into his heart.

Like Isaac, for example. Derek can't let a kid live on the streets nor can he let him live with his abusive father, there's no way in hell. But now he spends every day fearing that Isaac will end up dead somehow, even though neither of them leave the property much and only Erica and Boyd know Isaac is staying with him.

But the killer has her ways of getting information, and Derek lives in constant fear of the people he cares about because of that.

“Does that include Isaac?” Stiles asks, motioning over to him.

Derek looks over at Isaac and says, “Not yet.”

Isaac lifts his gaze from the ground and looks back at him. Isaac may not know the whole story, never had to and Derek doesn't want him to, but he does know parts of it. He knows enough, and there's understanding in the look that he gives Derek.

It doesn't make him feel any better about the potential disaster that's looming over them every day, though.

“Not yet and maybe never,” Stiles says. “You can't predict the future, buddy.”

“I can make an educated guess,” Derek says and looks at him.

Stiles frowns, and Derek suddenly regrets opening his mouth in the first place.

This isn't therapy. This isn't the place nor is it the time to be self deprecating and moody. For all the times he used to think about a reunion with his childhood best friend, this was never how they went and Stiles doesn't need this. He's just here to do his job.

“Ask another question, agent,” Derek says and tugs a lock of hair behind his ear.

Stiles doesn't lose the frown. “You know I'm gonna come talk to you about that when I'm not here on a job, right?”

Derek smiles a little and says, “Wouldn't be you if you didn't.”

“Exactly, so don't even think about getting out of it,” Stiles says. “Anyway, where were we? Right, uh... Do you remember anything that could help with the case from your phone call with Laura?”

“No,” Derek says and blows at the steam from his cup. “It wasn't any different than our other calls.”

He can feel Stiles' eyes on him while he sips at his tea. It's a lie, what he said, and the way Stiles is watching him so carefully tells him that Stiles has him figured out.

A part of him hates that. They've been apart for so many years, yet Stiles has somehow managed to figure him out already.

“You know withholding information isn't gonna help, right?” Stiles asks after a minute.

“I'm not withholding information,” Derek lies. “Everything there is to know is in the file.”

“If everything's in the file already, why hasn't the case been solved yet?”

Derek stares at him and lifts a brow.

“Oh, I get it,” Stiles says and makes a face at him. “Because we suck, right?”

Derek shrugs. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, well, your face did.”

Derek looks at him, deadpan.

“Your eyebrows are real judgy, has anyone ever told you that?”

“No, no one has ever told me that.”

“When did this become a sass off?” Isaac asks.

Derek gives Isaac a sideways glance but his attention is quickly pulled back to Stiles. He watches as Stiles blinks and stops midway through making a face, watches as he twists around to look at Isaac who is looking between them with an amused grin on his lips.

Stiles flushes, his cheeks turning a pretty pink at a nearly alarming rate. He gets the exact same expression on his face as he did when he was a kid and got caught stealing cookies from the jar in the Hale house.

Derek remembers it clearly, and he has to bite his cheek to stop himself from smiling at the memory.

“Uh, right,” Stiles says. He clears his throat and shifts. “Gotta stay on track. Stop distracting me, Derek.”

“Stop getting easily distracted,” Derek retorts.

Stiles sticks his tongue out at him.

“You said that Laura was leaving New York,” he says, getting back on track. “You wouldn't happen to know where she was going, would you?”

“California, I think,” Derek says. “She mentioned going back home.”

Stiles nods. “Okay, so when you said there was nothing about that phone call that could help the case, you were lying.”

“I wasn't lying,” Derek says. _Not about that, at least,_ he doesn't say.

“Ah, but you were,” Stiles says. “Her going back home? That's a pretty solid lead, dude.”

Derek stays quiet.

“I'm not the enemy here, Derek,” Stiles says. “I'm here to do my job and my job is to catch serial killers like this one. It fucking sucks that it's been so long without any real progress but you're not really helping if you're withholding information.”

Derek pauses, eyes going downcast. “I know.”

“So, could you maybe cooperate with me a little?” Stiles asks. “If you know anything, no matter how small, now would be the time to tell me.”

Derek hesitates. The words – the _name_ – are right on his tongue, ready to be said out loud. But, for reasons he hates and despises more than anything, he can't get them out. Even though he screams at himself to just fucking get it out already, he can't get himself to do it.

He tells himself that it doesn't matter whether he gives her name to Stiles, an agent with the FBI. It doesn't matter because she's been killing everyone he cares about anyway and she's obviously not planning on stopping anytime soon, so why shouldn't he just give her name up?

But he can't. His lips move and his mind flashes with images from his time with _her_ and suddenly he can't speak at all.

Derek clenches his jaw and his empty fist, swallowing thickly. He takes in a deep breath quietly, not wanting to give away the slight panic that he's having an internal fight with at the moment.

It's pathetic, really.

It's been years, he's a grown man, and she still scares the living hell out of him.

Derek doesn't get to say anything, as it turns out, because after an uncomfortable amount of tense silence where none of them say a single word, a phone buzzes loudly in someone's pocket. It breaks the silence and when Stiles curses under his breath, Derek lets out a heavy breath that he tries to tell himself isn't relief.

“Every time, I swear,” Stiles mutters to himself, shifting to pull his phone out of his pocket. He thumbs over the screen and sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “Damn it, I gotta get going. My partner has new evidence.”

“Anything good?” Derek asks, finding his voice again.

“Classified,” Stiles says and looks at him, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “That and I don't actually know, not yet. But _I'm_ good so what does it matter? Any evidence is good when you're an awesome agent like me.”

Stiles winks, and Derek silently thanks his long hair for covering up his now red ears.

Derek shows Stiles to the door, after Stiles somehow manages to cram a couple of cookies into his mouth without looking completely disgusting and greedy doing it. It's such a Stiles thing to do and it makes Derek realize just how much he's missed having him in his life.

Stiles has always been such a light, even when they were kids, and now, where Derek's life is constantly cast in darkness, it's like a flicker of light. A torch at the end of the a dark tunnel, if you will.

“Here,” Stiles says at the door and hands a card to Derek. “Call me if you think of anything. Or text me, that works too. Okay?”

Derek takes the card, eyes on the number printed under Stiles' name. “Okay,” he says.

“And I'm not giving you my number just for the case,” Stiles says, and Derek looks at him. “I'd like to catch up, sometime. I mean, we live in the same state, so why not catch up when a chance has been handed to us on a metaphorical silver platter, you know? And, I'm not gonna lie, there's a serial killer on the loose and they're going after Hales and I'm really fucking worried about you, so if something happens, call me.”

“I'll be fine,” Derek says after a beat.

It feels like a lie on his tongue and it is, in a way. He won't be fine, hasn't been fine for years, but he will be alive. That much he knows, that much he hates and despises.

“Maybe you will,” Stiles says and shrugs. “I know I'm sure as hell gonna bust my ass to catch this son of a bitch so that you will be, but just in case–” He steps closer and looks at him, finger tapping at the card in Derek's hands “– call me?”

Derek looks at him, their eyes locking. He nods after a moment, even though he doesn't know if he will or not. Part of him wants to, another part of him doesn't want to get close to Stiles again because that's just another person's life for Kate to play with. He can't handle that.

Stiles seems to hesitate for a minute, teeth worrying his bottom lip. Derek tries not to stare.

“Would it be weird if I hugged you?” Stiles asks, cheeks flushing slightly. “I just– I know we haven't really seen each other in fifteen years and all, but... well, I've missed you and you could–”

Derek doesn't let him finish. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Stiles in a hug that feels a little awkward at first, but then Stiles hugs him back and the awkwardness seeps right out, the hug settling into something close to familiarity.

Derek pointedly doesn't think about how well Stiles fits in his arms, nor does he think about how nice Stiles' arms feel around him. He definitely does not think about how good Stiles smell.

When they part after hugging for maybe a second too long, Stiles tells him to stay safe and to stay in contact, even makes Derek promise it, and then he leaves with a, “Love the hair, by the way!” thrown over his shoulder.

Derek stands on the porch and watches as Stiles' car disappears down the road. He stands there for longer than he probably should, fingers tracing the name and the number on the card that he still hasn't let go of, not even to put in his pocket.

“You never mentioned being friends with an agent,” Isaac's voice comes from behind him maybe a couple of minutes later.

“He wasn't an agent when I knew him,” Derek says and turns around. “I only knew him when we were kids. Drifted apart when I was around twelve.”

“Why?” Isaac asks.

Derek shrugs and steps inside, closing the door behind him. “His mom got sick, he started pushing away,” he says. The worst part is that he hadn't fought back and had just let it happen.

He blinks, then gives Isaac a look. “Why are you asking?”

Isaac smiles, innocent but fooling no one. “No reason,” he says. “That hug just looked really _friendly_ , if you know what I mean.”

Derek shoves at Isaac's face and leaves with a roll of his eyes, ignoring the heat warming his ears.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

‹ To Cora, _23:16_ : Answer me, please.

Derek stares down at the open text conversation on his phone, a frown on his lips and brows furrowed. He's in bed, Randy asleep in his lap and the house quiet outside of the bedroom, and Cora has yet to answer the text he send hours ago. He hasn't heard from her in a week and, usually, he would be fine with that but she's all he has left and he needs to know that she's okay.

He always wants to know that she's okay, always has this desperate need to know she's okay because the fear in him makes him paranoid that she isn't. But he _needs_ to know now, especially after this loss. According to Stiles, she had to find out over a phone call since she doesn't live in this country.

Derek hates that he couldn't be there when she got the news. God knows he could have used her when he found out, he can't imagine how she must have felt.

Cora takes an eternity to respond. That's an exaggeration but it feels like an eternity. It's not unusual though, for her to take forever to respond. Sometimes she doesn't even respond at all and while Derek has grown used to it, it still hurts.

He's having trouble keeping his eyes open but he can't put his phone down and away, not until Cora has answered him even if that doesn't happen until the sun rises again.

It's been a long and exhausting day, an even longer and exhausting week. He's lost yet another person he cares about and he hasn't allowed himself to grieve that loss, not yet. He doesn't really deserve to either, it's all his fault. If he hadn't been a stupid, idiotic teenager, then none of this would have happened.

It takes an eternity but then finally those little bubbles pop up, indicating that Cora is responding.

› From Cora, _23:48_ : I'm fine. Stop mothering me.

Derek lets out a slow breath. The reply is short and clipped, none of which is out of the ordinary, but it's a reply nonetheless and Derek will take anything at this point. Cora may hate him but he loves her and he is always going to worry, more now than ever.

‹ To Cora, _23:49_ : Never. Stay safe.

Cora doesn't respond to that. Derek doesn't expect her to either, so he puts his phone away and lays back on the bed, sinking into the pillows with a sigh that should have made him relax but doesn't. Not really, at least.

Randy moves from his lap and lays his head onto his chest, grunting softly as he makes himself comfortable. Derek lifts a hand and puts it on his back, petting absently while he stares up at the ceiling above.

He's not sure how long he ends up laying there, mind a static of nothing. It could be an eternity before he feels wetness roll down the side of his face and his throat starts feeling tight. He lifts his free hand and rubs at his now closed eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. It doesn't work but even as they continue to seep out, he doesn't stop fighting them.

Randy whines and shifts closer to press his snout against Derek's bearded chin. Derek wraps his arm around him, keeps his hand pressed to his face, and lets himself cry. For just a bit, he lets himself be weak and break.

Later, after he's managed to calm himself, he turns his head and looks over at the bedside table where the card that Stiles gave him pokes out from under his phone.

He's tired. He is so fucking tired of living in constant fear, tired of having _her_ control his life and keep him from living it. He's so tired and, honestly, he doesn't know how much more of this he can handle. It's a wonder he hasn't cracked yet, actually.

But it's not about him, at least not about his feelings. It doesn't matter how tired he is or how terrified he is, none of that matters. He realizes that now. The killing, the torture... all of it needs to end.

Derek stares at the card, considering. There aren't a lot of people he trusts enough to even talk about _her_ but, for some reason he doesn't question, he thinks Stiles might be one of those few.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters have been written and will be uploaded frequently.
> 
> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	2. Chapter 2

When Derek was younger, there were a lot of things he was enthusiastically passionate about. Things like reading, anything linguistic, basketball, an endless list of movies, history of the world, the list goes on and on. But now, as an adult who has gone through everything he has, that list is much, much shorter. He still loves all those things but it has gotten harder and harder to find joy in any of them over the years.

He still loves reading but it can take him days, sometimes even weeks, to finish a book while it used to take him less than a day to get through one. He still loves anything linguistic and sure, he knows a good handful of languages but he doesn't practice and has probably forgotten most of it anyway, so what's the point?

Basketball and anything related to sports hasn't been on his mind for years, not since he dropped out of high school and, with it, quit the basketball team. He can still find enjoyment in movies but he hasn't watched any of his favorites in ages because he usually lets Isaac or someone else pick one of theirs during movie nights.

Really, the only things Derek does anymore than he finds genuine enjoyment in are baking and taking care of the crops that he's growing on his farm. Never in a million years did Derek think he would grow up to be a farmer, but here he is doing exactly that and liking it.

It's calming, walking among the crops that are growing out in the field and taking care of them, making sure they turn out perfect. Those, at least, are somewhat easy to keep alive and he likes to think he's good at it. He does spend most hours of the day out on the farm, after all. If he wasn't at least decent, he would be doing something wrong.

It took a lot of time and a lot of effort to get to where he is now, though. The first several months after he put down his defenses and stopped hiding, he was terrible at it. Crops died, he broke more tools than were reasonable, so on and so forth. But he learned and now he would like to think he's a decent farmer.

He doesn't have any animals, though he has entertained the thought quite a lot. He's thought about going all out with sheep and cows and pigs and horses, the whole shebang. But he hasn't because part of him doesn't think he is going to be around long enough to care for them. And if he won't, then who is?

Farming, while hard work, is relaxing to Derek. He likes the methodical chore of it, likes that it's exhausting and tiring and wears him out. It helps him sleep at night, being so active and consuming so much fresh air for the majority of the day. It doesn't always work, doesn't always make him sleep easier or better, but it does occasionally which is good enough for him.

There isn't a lot of money in it and it's not always the most secure living. But he doesn't do it for the money, doesn't need to. The Hales have always had a lot of money and when the house burned down and most of them died, the money was split between the survivors. And money keeps pouring in with each death.

Derek can't look at his bank account anymore. With Laura's share undoubtedly being added or about to be, he feels sick even thinking about it. It feels wrong, to have it. He never uses any of it, never has. He only pays for things with the little money he makes from his crops and the few times he's sold his baking.

It's not much but it keeps him busy, keeps him doing something that isn't useless and harmful.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek is crouched down in front of his tomato plants, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hair put up into a now messy bun, sweat and dirt covering various parts of him, when he hears the sound of tires rolling across the road leading up to the front of the house.

Randy starts barking from the porch. Derek stands and wipes his dirty hands on his pants, looking toward the car as it pulls up. He recognizes it instantly, a sigh leaving him as he hangs his head. He should have seen this coming, yet somehow he finds himself surprised anyway.

He leaves his tools by the tomatoes and heads over to where Erica and Boyd are climbing out of their car. Erica hasn't even been out of the car for two seconds before she crouches down to let an excited Randy jump into her arms and greet her with licks while she pets him.

Meanwhile, Boyd spots him as he approaches. They both raise a hand in greeting.

“I thought you guys were headed to Rome for a month,” Derek says as he nears them.

Erica's attention shifts from Randy to Derek. The second her face starts falling a little, Derek realizes where this is heading. He comes to a stop a good distance from them, clenches his jaw, and crosses his arms.

He should have stayed on the farm.

Erica manages to get Randy off of her and stands. She shares a brief look with Boyd, then her eyes are right back on Derek. She's frowning, eyes full of the pity that Derek has come to despise.

“Derek,” she says, voice soft. “We heard about Laura.”

“You shouldn't have canceled your vacation because of that,” Derek says.

“You're our friend,” Boyd says, “and you just lost your sister. Why wouldn't we?”

“You can't put your lives on hold,” Derek says. “Not for me.”

“You're an idiot,” Erica says and steps over to him. “And don't tell us what to do, you're not the boss of us. We care about you and you can't stop us, so suck it up.”

Derek stubbornly avoids her eye for a moment, but then she pokes at his chest and he lets his eyes shift over to lock with hers. Erica smiles at him, a small and crooked one, and Derek returns it with a roll of his eyes that he tries to tell himself isn't fond, even though he knows it is.

“There you go,” Erica says and pats his cheek. “That's better. Now, where's Isaac? We are having a friends day and I will personally tie you to the couch if you even think about getting out of it.”

Derek huffs at her and says, “He's in the kitchen, doing homework.”

“And you're not helping him?” Erica scoffs. “What kind of surrogate dad are you?”

“None,” Derek says and gives her a flat look. “That's what.”

Erica gives him an unconvinced look back. “Sure, okay.”

In the kitchen, Isaac is still exactly where Derek had left him nearly an hour ago; sitting by the kitchen island, bend over a text book with his head propped up on his closed fist, his elbows on the surface, and a concentrated look on his face. He's slouching a little, scribbling down notes in the notebook next to him.

The moment the three of them come walking in with Randy on their heels, Isaac lifts his head and turns to look at them. A smile forms on his lips and he puts down his pen, sliding off the stool and meeting Erica halfway in a tight and friendly hug.

While Erica sits down with Isaac and asks what he's working on, Derek goes over to get them something to drink and Randy hobbles over to his basket where he makes himself comfortable and starts gnawing on his chew toy.

To no surprise at all, Boyd goes straight for the plate of homemade baked goods and grabs it, taking it with him over to the island where he sits down.

“Those aren't for you,” Derek says over his shoulder, though he doesn't do much to stop him.

“Okay,” Boyd says and stuffs his mouth.

Derek rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he says nothing.

Truth to be told, they aren't specifically for anyone. He baked them because he needed something to do and he had the ingredients, so why not? Baking reminds him of when his mom used to do it which made the whole house smell of whatever she was making. Sometimes it hurts because she's not there but he doesn't want to forget it.

At least with those three happily eating any– and everything he bakes, it doesn't feel like he's doing it for nothing. It has a purpose.

“Hey,” Erica says after her second piece. “Did they put a new agent on the case or is it still agent McShitface?”

The corner of Derek's lips twitches, pulls a small smile onto his face. He puts a can of lemonade down and hands a cup to each of them before he joins them at the island.

“They got a new one,” he says. “Agent Stilinski. I knew him, back when I lived in Beacon Hills.”

“Is he any good?” Boyd asks and pours Erica a cup.

“I don't know,” Derek says and shrugs. “But he cares. That's good enough for me.”

“He's not the only one who cares,” Erica says and reaches over to grab his hand. “You know that, right?”

Derek looks at her for a silent moment, then he squeezes her hand and says, “I know.”

And he does. He knows they care, all three of them. Sometimes he doesn't believe it, sometimes it feels like a lie that he keeps trying to convince himself of. Sometimes he doesn't want them to care nor does he want to care about them because that's just more people in danger.

But he has tried to push them away once, twice, several times. Clearly it never worked because they're still here.

“I gotta be honest,” Isaac says around a bite. “I'm not sure I like him.”

Derek frowns at him. “Why not?”

“He talks too much,” Isaac says with a shrug.

“How is that a good reason not to like someone?” Erica asks, quirking a brow.

“You get used to it,” Derek says with a huff. “When we were kids, Stiles would never fucking shut up. It was like he had constant mouth diarrhea. It's not so bad anymore.”

“His first name is Stiles?” Boyd asks and makes a face.

“Not that weird,” Derek says.

Boyd hums. “Guess not.”

“Stiles Stilinski,” Erica says, scrunching her nose a little. “Kind of a mouthful, isn't it?”

“Stop making fun of him,” Derek says, then takes a sip of his lemonade.

“Since when are we not allowed to make fun of agents?” Isaac asks. “You had no problem with any of the others.”

“None of the others were Stiles,” Derek says.

“Aw,” Erica coos and grins at him. “Do you have a crush on your childhood buddy?”

Derek flushes and glares at her.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

“I do not have a crush on him,” Derek says. He hates that it feels like a lie.

“Liar,” Boyd says.

Derek glares at him too.

“I thought this was supposed to be a friends day,” he says. “When did it become Bully Derek Day?”

“It's called friendly teasing,” Boyd says. “It happens when you're close, Derek.”

“Deal with it,” Isaac chimes in with.

Derek gives them both an unimpressed look, then rolls his eyes with a scoff.

“You've got a point, though,” Erica says and slides off her stool, cup of lemonade in one hand and the other tugging at Derek. “This is friends day and we are gonna have a movie marathon, I just decided.”

“Oh, you just decided?” Derek repeats teasingly and lets himself get dragged along with her.

“Yep,” she says cheerfully. “Come on, boys!”

Derek ends up sitting on the floor with Randy asleep in his lap, rolled onto his back with his belly exposed. He's leaning against Erica's knees while she braids his hair because she insisted and he didn't fight it. Boyd is sitting next to Erica, an arm draped over her shoulders, and Isaac is sitting on her other side with a bowl of popcorn that he's eating handfuls out of.

The living room lights are all turned off, the curtains pulled to a close. The only light source in the room is the television where a movie is playing. Boyd picked it this time, since it's his turn anyway. Derek isn't really paying it much attention but it doesn't matter because he's enjoying himself despite it.

Sometimes, being around these four, Randy included, makes him forget to feel hopeless.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

“What about that?” Boyd asks and points.

“I'm not gonna make an entire cake,” Derek says and flips the page carefully.

The recipe book is old and one of the few things that survived the Hale house fire, although just barely. It's a little burned and a handful of the pages are nearly unreadable, but the rest is fine and usable. It was his mom's and even if none of the pages had survived the fire, he would never throw it away.

It means too much to him, to be able to bake or cook the things that his mom used to. It's a way for him to connect, a way for him to remember and pass on her legacy. She deserves that much, at the very least.

“I could definitely eat an entire cake,” Isaac mumbles from the kitchen island.

He's doing homework again, finishing up the things he didn't get to yesterday when he had been interrupted by an impromptu movie night. Erica is sitting next to him, pretending to help even though she hasn't looked up from her phone for the past five minutes.

“I'm not baking you a cake, Isaac,” Derek says and flips another page. “Focus on your homework.”

“Yes, dad,” Isaac says dryly.

Erica snorts, and Derek gives them both a warning look over his shoulder. Both of them smile back innocently. With a roll of his eyes, Derek turns back to the book and lets Boyd flip a few pages, skipping one that's completely ruined.

“Peanut butter cookies,” Boyd says and points down at the page. “Make those.”

“Yes, please,” comes the unanimous cheer from the island.

“They're not for you,” Derek says, even though they all know it's a lie.

He scans the page quickly, then moves to grab the ingredients and preheat the oven. After, he rolls the sleeves of his sweater up, unties his hair from the ponytail to put it into a tight and neat bun instead, and looks the recipe over one more time.

This is what he likes doing; submerging himself into work like this, making something that brings people happiness and joy. Baking does that, more often than not.

“Are you gonna bring them to Stiles?” Isaac asks after a minute.

Derek glances at him. Isaac has a teasing glint in his eyes and Erica is snickering next to him. She's trying to hide it behind her hand but she isn't doing a good job of it. Derek narrows his eyes at them and ignores the heat rising to his ears.

“Don't tease him,” Boyd says and slides onto the stool next to Erica.

“I'm just asking a question,” Isaac says.

“A stupid question.”

“Okay,” Isaac says and holds his hands up in surrender. “I'll shut up.”

“You do that,” Derek says, pulling a pan out. “And do your homework or you won't be getting any cookies.”

“Yeah, Isaac,” Erica says. “Listen to your dad.”

Derek huffs heavily and says, “I hate all of you. Get out of my house.”

“Yes, dad,” Isaac says.

“Love you too, dad,” Erica says.

“You guys are assholes,” Boyd says, chuckling.

Derek ignores them, tunes them out, and focuses on baking. It takes him about twenty minutes to get everything mixed together and the cookies shaped out on the baking sheet wrapped pan. After setting the timer for eight minutes, he puts them in the oven and joins the others by the island.

It takes a minute and then the delicious smell of cookies slides into Derek's nostrils. He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and thinks of his mom for a minute.

The moment is ruined when he opens his eyes to find Erica looking at him with a frown.

“What?” he asks quietly.

“I'm gonna ask you something,” she says, “and it's gonna ruin your mood.”

“Then don't ask me.”

“I have to.”

Derek sighs. “I know what you're gonna ask and the answer is...” He pauses, shrugs. “I don't know.”

“Wow.” Erica raises her brows. “Your answer has always been a hard no.”

“I know,” Derek says. “But it's different this time.”

“Right, because of Stiles,” Erica says, nodding. She pauses for a beat. “Do you feel like you can trust him?”

Derek lifts a shoulder and says, “Maybe. I want to believe I can, yeah.”

“So,” Erica says and gives him a small smile. “You're gonna tell him about you-know-who?”

“You can say her name,” Derek says and gives her a look. “She's not Voldemort.”

“I don't wanna say her name. But are you? Gonna tell him, that is.”

Derek looks at her for a moment, considering.

He wants to, is the thing. He wants to tell Stiles about Kate because, even though they've only been reconnecting via texts for about a week now, he feels like he can. He hates that this is the situation they're in, that they're reconnecting because _she_ still torments him, but it is what it is.

He wants to tell Stiles but he's terrified. He's terrified of the hell that could potentially rain down on him and every single person he cares about if Kate finds out he snitched to the authorities. It's stupid because she keeps killing anyway, so why shouldn't he?

He's sure that if he asked, Stiles would probably agree to be discreet about it, though. Or, he hopes so.

“Yeah,” Derek says after a minute. “Yeah, I'm gonna tell him.”

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

It takes Derek about an hour to get to the FBI headquarter, including finding the right building and getting both himself and the box of peanut butter cookies into the car. During the whole drive there, his phone buzzes with new text messages from Stiles, but he ignores them all and focuses on driving.

They've been texting each other a lot over the past week, him and Stiles. None of it has been about the case, to which Derek is grateful. It has been nice, catching up with someone from his past. The more he talks with Stiles, the more he realizes just how much he's missed him.

It feels like there is a part of himself that's back along with Stiles, and Derek has never used his phone as much as he does now. Before, he usually kept his phone put away and would only check it a couple of times throughout the day. Now, it's constantly near him so he doesn't miss a text because that's how desperate he is to be in contact with Stiles again.

Isaac, Erica, Boyd – all three of them have teased him about it. Yes, even Boyd.

Derek parks outside the FBI building and leans heavily back in his seat, a slow breath leaving him. He's nervous, he can't deny it. He's nervous about seeing Stiles again, although he is excited about that too, and he's nervous about handing him a plate of cookies, like that's a normal thing people do.

But most of all, he's nervous about going in there and talking about _her_.

It takes him about an hour to find the right place but it takes him ten minutes to actually get out of his car and go in there, box of cookies in one hand and the other tugging a lock of hair behind his ear in a nervous habit.

The place is big beyond the doors, spacious and very official, no surprise there. Derek doesn't bother giving the people both standing and sitting around a second's worth of a glance, instead he heads straight for the reception while he tries to ignore the way his heart is beating hard and rapidly in his chest.

The receptionist is a middle aged woman with a pair of thick looking glasses shoved up onto the top of her head, using them as a pseudo headband to keep her hair out of her face. She's turned slightly to the side, talking to the woman standing on the other side. Judging by the badge by her hip, Derek guesses the other woman is an agent.

Derek approaches and when he's maybe five steps away, the receptionist stops her conversation with the agent and turns to him instead, her smile shifting from casual to professional but staying kind.

“Good evening, sir,” she greets him. “What can I help you with today?”

“Hi,” Derek greets back and stops in front of the counter. “I'm looking for special agent Stilinski?”

“Stiles?” the agent asks and turns bodily to him, her eyes curious.

Derek nods. “Yeah.”

The agent looks at him for a moment, studies him, then, as if a light bulb suddenly flicked on above her head, she exclaims, “Oh! You're Derek Hale, aren't you?”

“I am,” Derek says.

“Stiles has been talking about you a lot,” she says, and Derek ignores the warmth in his cheeks. “Like, practically non-stop. He keeps going on and on about you, it's awesome to actually get to meet you in person.”

Derek offers her a little smile, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness he feels when she walks around until she's in front of him.

“Kira Yukimura,” she introduces herself as and holds out a hand. “Special agent. Nice to meet you.”

Derek shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Wanna go to Stiles with me?” Kira asks, letting go of his hand. “I'm heading to that floor, anyway. Might as well, right?”

Derek nods and says, “Sure.”

The receptionist – whose name, she tells him, is Jane – makes him fill out a guest pass, which he clips onto his jacket. Kira smiles at him when he turns to her, and she says a quick goodbye to Jane before she starts walking. Derek follows her, lets himself be lead through the lobby, up a flight of stairs, and into an elevator.

Kira fills the silence with casual conversation during the ride up. Derek does his best to respond, although he hasn't been good with new people in years so it's difficult. She's nice though, he learns quickly. She clearly knows about the case, which is fine considering it's all over the news and he doubts anyone doesn't, but she doesn't bring it up nor does she look at him with any pity, only kindness and open friendliness.

She talks a lot, stumbles over her own words every once in a while but somehow does it with confidence, and Derek finds that he likes her. She's easy to feel comfortable around, after a while, which is a damn miracle, all things considered.

The ride up to the right floor isn't terribly long. Kira warns him that it will most likely be busy, right before the doors ding open, and she's right. The office is very busy, buzzing with people's voices. It's a little overwhelming but, then again, he didn't expect any less.

Derek follows a step behind Kira as they head inside, his eyes scanning the agents filling up the place. It doesn't take him long to spot Stiles.

Stiles is standing by a desk near the wall of windows on the other side of the office. His back is turned to them but it's undoubtedly Stiles. He's talking to the agent sitting by the desk, a casual smile on his lips and a ball in his hand that he's squeezing and playing with absently. His hair is a wild mess, the sleeves of his button up shirt are rolled up to above his elbows, and he looks good.

Derek pretends his knees don't malfunction a little and tightens his grip on the box in his hand, while he takes a steady and subtle breath in.

“Stiles!” Kira calls out. “I brought you a present!”

“Aw dude, I didn't know it was my birthday!” Stiles calls back and turns around. There's already a smile on his lips but the moment his eyes land on Derek, he pauses for all of a split second before that smile widens and brightens.

Derek smiles back, silently telling his heart to calm down.

“Derek!” Stiles exclaims and walks over toward him. “Dude, hey. I didn't know you were visiting. I would've cleared my schedule so we could go get lunch or something somewhere, ya know, more private.”

He glances pointedly to the side and Derek follows his gaze to Kira who's standing a few steps away from them. She's watching them with open interest, a smile on her lips. It takes maybe a second too long for her to realize why she's being looked at so pointedly, and Derek tries not to find it adorable.

(He fails.)

“Oh, right,” Kira says and steps back, shooting a finger gun at them. “Privacy. Got it. Bye!”

“Bye, Kira!” Stiles calls after her. “Thank you!”

“Anytime!” Kira calls back and gives a lazy salute as she sits down by a desk.

“So,” Stiles says, turning back to Derek with a smile. “Let me give you the grand tour of my, uh– well, my desk, I guess.”

Derek huffs in amusement and nods, following Stiles past a couple other desks before they stop at a third. It's messy in the most Stiles way and Derek likes it immediately. The first thing that catches his eyes is the flag standing proudly next to the picture of who Derek knows to be Stiles' parents.

He doesn't think twice before he reaches out and picks it up, looking at Stiles as he gives it a wave.

“Bi, huh?” he asks.

“What?”

Stiles looks at him, then drops his eyes to the flag. His face falls a little and he squares his shoulders when he looks back at Derek, like he's expecting to have to defend himself.

“Yeah,” he says. “You got a problem with that?”

“None,” Derek says with a shake of his head and puts the flag back. “I'm just glad neither of us turned out straight.”

Stiles' shoulders relax and the smile returns slowly. “Oh yeah?”

Derek nods, points at himself, and says, “Pan.”

Stiles beams at him. “Dude, nice,” he says and holds up his hand, palm flat and open.

Derek rolls his eyes but gives him a high five anyway.

“Okay, I'm gonna get you a chair,” Stiles says after a pause.

He looks around but it only takes a good handful of seconds before he exclaims a brief _aha!_ and starts heading over toward an empty desk.

“Hey, Ally!” he calls out as he grabs the chair. “I'm borrowing your chair!”

“What?” a woman's voice yells back from the other side of the office.

Derek follows the voice. Ally, he guesses, is standing with a few other people around a table with a coffee machine churning in the center of it, a long row of mugs stacked to either side of it. Her hair is dark, maybe even black, and it's pulled up into a tight ponytail. Her badge stands out on her hip against the rest of her dark clothes.

Another agent then, Derek guesses.

“Your chair!” Stiles calls back, rolling said chair over to Derek and offering it to him. “I'm borrowing it!”

If Ally says something in return, neither of them hear it. Stiles sits down and Derek does the same, the two of them sharing a smile.

“So, what's up?” Stiles asks. He splays out on his chair, legs obscenely open.

Derek tries not to look.

“Brought you something,” he says and pulls the box up from his lap to hand it to Stiles.

He ignores the heat that probably makes his ears bright red when Stiles beams at him. This is going terribly and he suddenly regrets all of this. Why the hell did he think bringing _cookies_ was a good idea? People don't do that.

“Aw, for little ol' me? You shouldn't have.”

Stiles grabs the box with both hands, a toothy smile on his lips. He practically rips the lid off and he doesn't hesitate to dip his nose down and inhale noisily.

“Damn,” he moans. “That smells good. What kind are they?”

“Peanut butter,” Derek says.

“Oh my God, I love you,” Stiles blurts out. “Marry me.”

Derek blushes but before he can say the snarky comment that rests on his tongue, a man comes over to the desk and leans over Stiles' side, like stepping into his personal space is something so normal for them. The man's eyes are trained on the cookies, full of interest.

“Are those cookies?” he asks and reaches a hand out.

“Hey!” Stiles exclaims and slaps his hand away. “Fuck off, Danny, they're mine.”

“Sharing is caring, Stiles,” Danny, apparently, says and shifts back half a step.

Stiles turns bodily away, box hugged to his chest and eyes narrow.

“Yeah, well, I don't care,” he says and sticks his tongue out.

“Did someone say cookies?” another voice joins, this one familiar.

Kira comes up behind Derek and, with a bright smile on her face, she too reaches out for the box that is currently angled toward her.

Stiles immediately shifts and leans over a little, shielding the box from both of them. He lets out a noise that's nearly a hiss and says, “Guys, I'm not sharing! Derek made them for _me_ , fuck off.”

“You act like I can't just make more,” Derek says, biting back a laugh.

Stiles looks at him, both pouting and glaring, clearly displeased. Derek raises a pointed brow in return and Stiles grumbles unintelligibly before he sits up properly and holds out the box to let Kira and Danny take a cookie each. His pout gets even deeper when Kira takes a bite and hums appreciatively as she leaves again.

“Are you gonna sulk,” Derek asks, “or are you gonna try one?”

“Can't I do both?” Stiles retorts and grabs a cookie. He takes a bite and then his face smooths over instantly, brows going up and eyes going wide.

Derek smiles a little at him.

“Oh my God,” Stiles moans and takes another bite, somehow managing to keep talking around his mouthful. “This is literally the best thing I've ever tasted. Seriously. I'm gonna have to marry you and have you bake for me all the fucking time 'cause damn, dude.”

Derek rolls his eyes but he doesn't try to stop his smile from turning fond. He doesn't say anything, though. He merely sits back and watches as Stiles eats the rest of the cookie and then picks up another one, biting into that one before he's even finished the bite already in his mouth.

The longer he sits there, the more Derek feels his smile start to fade. He's waited long enough, he figures. He takes in a deep, steadying breath and swallows before he speaks.

“I actually came here for a reason,” he says.

Stiles looks at him and pauses. “Not just to seduce me with your awesome baking skills?”

Derek smiles a little, knowing it won't reach his eyes. “No,” he says.

“Okay,” Stiles says with a small frown. He puts down the box of cookies and turns, giving him his full attention. “What's up?”

Derek takes in a breath and says, “I know who the killer is.”

Stiles blinks at him. “You know who the killer is?” he repeats questioningly.

“I do,” Derek says and looks down. “I don't have any concrete evidence, but I know.”

“Concrete evidence or not, it's a lead on a suspect,” Stiles says. “You got a name on this person?”

Derek nods, clenches his hand into a fist. “Kate,” he says, unable to not bite it out.

“Kate...?” Stiles asks, prompting.

“I don't know her last name,” Derek says. “She didn't think it was important I knew and I... well, I was young and didn't know better.”

“Young,” Stiles repeats, face hardening. “How young?”

“Fifteen.”

“And she was, what?”

“Older,” Derek says. “Late twenties, maybe.”

Stiles takes in a sharp breath. “And, if I'm reading between the lines right, you're saying that–”

“Yes,” Derek interrupts. “She went after a fifteen year old even though she was in her late twenties and I was stupid enough to fall for it.”

“Woah, dude, no.” Stiles reaches out and puts his hand over Derek's fist. “That is not something you should blame yourself over. You were fifteen and, I don't know, rebellious? It doesn't matter, it is not on you. It's on her.”

“I got my family murdered, Stiles,” Derek says and finally looks up. “She asked me how to sneak into my house and I told her without even thinking about it. How is that not on me, too?”

“Because you were _fifteen_ ,” Stiles says. “She manipulated you, I'm assuming. You couldn't have known what her intentions were or that she was gonna turn out to be a murderer on top of a generally gross person.”

“Maybe not,” Derek says. “But I should've.”

“Why?”

Derek shrugs. “I don't know. She was in her twenties, I was old enough to know better.”

“Again, you were fifteen,” Stiles says and squeezes around Derek's fist. “I'm pretty sure everyone's naive at that age.”

“Enough to get their entire family killed and hunted?” Derek asks bitterly.

“You did not get the killed,” Stiles says firmly, face serious. “Do not blame yourself for that. Kate or whoever this murder is? That's the one to blame.”

Derek shakes his head but Stiles speaks before he can.

“Stop fighting me on this,” he says. He pauses for a second, frowning. “Derek, this Kate person isn't mentioned in the file or anywhere. Have you never told anyone about her before?”

Derek shifts, hesitating. “Not to the authorities,” he says in a lowered voice.

Stiles frowns harder. “That's... Why not?”

Derek looks at him for a long moment, then he lowers his gaze to where Stiles' hand is still on his own, holding on tight. His hand is warm, Derek notes quietly. It's warm and supposed to be comforting, but the grip is so tight that all Derek can feel is the anger.

A part of him is happy about that, happy that Stiles is angry. It means he cares and believes him.

Derek is quiet for long enough that Stiles squeezes his hand and softly says, “Derek, come on. You were doing so good with opening up. Don't shut down now.”

Derek slowly lifts his gaze and meet Stiles'. He hates the look in Stiles' eyes; sadness and something not unlike pity. He hates it but it's still Stiles and there is a part of Derek that trusts him, fully and wholeheartedly. It's a little bit concerning that not even fifteen years apart has changed that but he doesn't care, doesn't question it.

“She came for me,” he says quietly. “Not long after the fire. She threatened me, told me that if I even thought about saying anything to the sheriff or the deputies, she would–” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, the memory making his stomach flip. “It doesn't matter. She threatened me and then my uncle Peter died in the hospital.”

“And you didn't say anything because you were scared,” Stiles says.

Derek nods and says, “I was terrified. I still am, to be honest.” He huffs humorlessly. “It's pathetic, isn't it? I'm twenty-seven, yet I'm still terrified of her.”

“It's not pathetic,” Stile says. “And I'm glad you told me about her. It can't have been easy, walking around with that.”

“It's not,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles gives his fist one last squeeze before he lets go. Without it there, Derek lets his fist relax and curl out, resting his damp palm on his knee.

“Can I ask... Why now?” Stiles asks. “And why tell _me_?”

Derek smiles, a little sadly. “Because I'm tired,” he says. “I'm tired of the people I care about dying around me. And, because it's you. None of the other agents ever really cared but you do.”

“I do,” Stiles confirms and smiles at him. It fades quickly. “I don't want you to think I don't believe you.”

“But?” Derek prompts when Stiles trails off.

“But,” Stiles says and scratches the back of his head. “I just– What's her motive? Why go after you and your family?”

“I don't know,” Derek sighs. “Well, I think she used to do business with my mom. Or, that was the plan but they never did. Whatever Kate was offering or contributing wasn't something my mom wanted, apparently. She, uh... She approached me after one of their last meetings and... that's that.”

“So she's angry and wants revenge,” Stiles says. “That's a pretty good motive.”

“Yeah.”

“We don't have to talk about this right now,” Stiles says, clearly sensing Derek's discomfort. “But I do need one more thing. You don't have a name for her but do you have anything else?”

Derek lets out a breath. “Like what?”

“Like...” Stiles shrugs, scratching his cheek. “Like, what does she look like?”

Derek opens his mouth.

“Actually,” Stiles says, cutting him off. “It's been twelve years. She could look like a totally different person now.”

Derek closes his mouth.

“Okay, maybe you should just tell me anyway.”

Derek stares at him, waiting. “Are you gonna let me talk now?”

“Yes,” Stiles says. “Maybe. Probably. I'll try to, how's that?”

“The best I can ask for, probably.”

Stiles mimes zipping his lips shut and throws away the pretend zipper, then gestures for Derek to talk. Derek looks at him, deadpan, for a moment before he huffs and looks away with a little shake of his head, a small smile pulling at his lips.

They're talking about the one person that makes his skin crawl and his paranoia spike at the mere thought of her, and he's smiling. All because of Stiles.

“She's white,” Derek starts with a sigh. “She can't change that, at least. She's kinda tall, I guess, but that might've been because I was fifteen. She's blonde, maybe brunette or something like that.”

Stiles hums softly and nods. He's writing it down in a notebook, his handwriting messy and rushed. As promised, he stays quiet. However, so does Derek and when the silence has stretched for too long, Stiles looks at him and raises a brow.

“That's it?” he asks after a beat.

Derek shrugs. “What else?”

“I don't know. Maybe any identifying marks, like a tattoo or a scar or something?”

“None that I noticed,” Derek says, shaking his head.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath, leans back in his chair, and runs a hand through his hair. The movement messes it up even more, yet somehow it doesn't look bad. Stiles makes it work, this mess of a hairstyle.

“Well,” Stiles says and swirls around in his chair to face the computer. “It's not much but it's a lead so it's better than the nothing I've been going on. I'll put this Kate as a wanted person and then we–”

“Did you say Kate?”

Derek blinks and turns to the new voice directly to his left. There's a woman standing there, a small frown on her lips and her brows furrowed in a silent question. It takes him a second but then he places her; this is Ally whose chair he's currently sitting on.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, turning to her as well. “Why, what's up?”

“Nothing, I just–” Ally shakes her head, then looks at Derek and smiles at him. “Hi, I'm special agent Allison Argent.”

“Derek Hale,” Derek says, introducing himself.

“I don't mean to interrupt,” Allison says, turning to Stiles. “Do you mind if I ask Mr. Hale a few questions?”

Stiles pauses, then shrugs and says, “You should ask Derek about that.”

“Well, it's your case.”

“And it's his life you wanna ask about.”

“Right,” Allison says. She looks at Derek. “Mr. Hale, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Derek hesitates, fidgeting. “About what, exactly?”

“About this Kate you guys were talking about,” Allison says, her face hardening.

“Okay,” Derek says after a hesitating pause. He does mind, actually. He doesn't know Allison but she gives him this look, this desperate look, and he can't get himself to say no.

“Thank you,” Allison says and gives him a grateful smile. “Did she ever mention having a brother?”

Derek narrows his eyes at her. “She did,” he says slowly.

“And did she ever mention what he did?”

“Law enforcement. She didn't specify.”

Allison nods. “Do you remember what kind of car she was driving at the time?”

“Ally,” Stiles interrupts when Derek only frowns and shakes his head. “What's going on?”

Allison looks at Stiles and says, “I need to talk with you in private.”

“If it's about the case,” Stiles says and crosses his arms, “you can tell Derek too.”

“Do you know her?” Derek asks when Allison hesitates. It's getting hard to breathe, all of the sudden.

Allison looks from Derek to Stiles, then back to Derek. Her face says it all but she opens her mouth and speaks anyway. Derek wants to run far, far away.

“I have an aunt,” Allison says. “She disappeared about twelve years ago, now. Went off the radar. We only hear from her a couple of times a year, at most. I guess– I just assumed she was traveling the world or something like that, but... well, she was always very clear that she hated the Hales. Everything else fits, too.”

Derek can't breathe. His hand twitches, the instinct to check on his sisters– well, sist _er_ kicking in immediately. But he can't seem to look away from Allison, nor can he get his heart to stop pounding so hard and so rapidly. He feels like running and puking and crawling under the desk to hide, all at once.

“And your aunt's name is Kate,” Stiles says, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Allison says. “Kate Argent.”

“Alright.” Stiles sighs and leans forward, eyes on the computer again. “I'll put her as wanted–”

“Don't,” Derek says tightly.

Stiles turns to him. “Derek, I have to do my job.”

“My sister's life is at stake,” Derek says firmly. “If she finds out you're onto her, she'll get angry and double or triple her efforts. I've got one family member left, Stiles. One. I lose Cora, I'm done.”

Stiles looks at him for a long minute, face falling and eyes turning sad. Derek returns the look with a glare, brows heavy over his eyes.

“Fine,” Stiles says. “I'll be discreet. I won't go all guns blazing after her, even though I really want to punch her right in the face. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” Derek says and swallows thickly.

“I'll go call my dad,” Allison says, phone already in hand. “Maybe he knows something. I'll be discreet, I promise.”

Derek nods silently and Allison leaves, phone pressed to her ear and ponytail swinging with her rushed steps.

Silence falls over them for a minute, the office around them buzzing as busily as it had before. Derek lets out a slow breath, leans back in his seat, and feels the panic really start to set in. This is getting terrifyingly real and he's not entirely sure how to process.

“I can get you protection,” Stiles says, and Derek lifts his gaze to meet his. “If she comes for you.”

Derek shakes his head. “She won't.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Stiles asks, maybe a little too loudly, and throws his hands up.

“Because I stopped running from her a long time ago,” Derek says. “I stopped so she could find me and kill me, end this. But she hasn't yet and I don't think she will. The way this is going, she's probably saving me for last. Next is gonna be Cora and then finally me.”

Stiles is silent for a moment, then he reaches out and grabs Derek's hand.

“You won't lose Cora,” he says, eyes fierce with determination. “Over my dead body.”

“Please don't,” Derek says and smiles humorlessly. “I can't lose you either. Not again.”

“Dude, come on,” Stiles says and scoffs. “I'm not that skinny, little kid anymore. I'm a goddamn special agent with the FBI, I can handle myself.”

“I know,” Derek says. “That doesn't mean I won't worry.”

“And I get that,” Stiles says, nodding. “I mean, if I had a serial killer going after the people I cared about, I'd be worrying too. Constantly.”

Derek hums in agreement and looks away.

“Hey,” Stiles says and squeezes his hand. Derek looks at him. “It'll be over soon. I'll make sure of that. Okay?”

Derek stares at him, then smiles, small and crooked. “Pinky promise?” he asks.

“Pinky promise,” Stiles says and grins at him while he maneuvers their hands around until their pinkies are wrapped around each other, both of their grips tight and promising.

Derek doesn't stay for long after that. He's suddenly overwhelmingly tired and he wants to go home and hide under the covers on his bed for a few hours, maybe with Randy. So he tells Stiles that he should get going and Stiles visibly hesitates before he nods and stands up with him.

“I'll walk you out,” he says and puts his hand on Derek's shoulder, squeezing once before letting go.

Stiles fills the silence on the trip back to the lobby of the headquarter. He doesn't seem to mind that Derek is only responding with short, sometimes one worded sentences. But then again, Stiles has never minded or had any trouble filling the silence.

It doesn't take long to reach the lobby. Stiles greets Jane as they pass by to hand the guest pass back and before Derek knows it, he's standing by his car and in front of Stiles with a bit of a dilemma. He wants to stay with Stiles but he also really wants to leave.

He goes with the latter, because what else is he supposed to do?

Stiles doesn't say anything, doesn't even let Derek get a single word out. He just steps right into Derek's space and wraps his arms around him in a tight hug. Derek hesitates for only a second before he hugs him back and lets himself bury his face in Stiles' neck, breathing in a little.

“Text me when you get home,” Stiles says quietly into his ear.

It sounds like an order but he doesn't say it like one. Derek knows though, so he nods and promises that he will.

They part, then Derek gets into his car and drives off, heart heavy in his chest.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

When Derek returns home, Randy barks in excitement and comes hobbling hurriedly toward him, tail wagging wildly and tongue lolling out of his mouth ridiculously. Derek smiles, crouches down, and wraps his arms around him the moment Randy jumps at him.

He stays like that for a while, letting Randy lick at his face and coat it with saliva, but then he gets Randy off of him and stands. He walks through the house, Randy trailing after him, but he stops when he hears yelling from upstairs.

It's not a bad one, he recognizes Erica's competitive yell instantly and knows exactly where to find them. He heads up the stairs and down the hall to Isaac's room. The door is wide open, so he pokes his head inside and sees Erica, Boyd, and Isaac sitting on the floor. All three of them are facing the television and all three of them have controllers in their hands.

“Don't you guys have your own place?” Derek asks, addressing Erica and Boyd.

“I told them to stay,” Isaac says, then swears under his breath and throws his controller onto the mountain of pillows around them.

Derek quirks a questioning brow at them and locks eyes with Boyd who shrugs a shoulder and doesn't bother explaining. Erica doesn't either, too busy throwing her hands in the air with a wide grin on her face. Whatever they're playing, she obviously won.

“How did it go?” Boyd asks and leans back against a stack of pillows.

Derek shrugs and says, “Fine.”

The three of them share a look, although Derek doesn't see it. He's too busy avoiding their eyes, looking at the mess that they've made of Isaac's room until his eyes land on Randy who is sitting obediently by his side. As soon as their eyes meet, Randy drops his mouth open and starts wagging his tail.

Erica stands from the floor and comes over to him. She doesn't hug him like he think she's about to. Instead, she grabs his arm and drags him to the mountain of pillows where she pushes him down and makes him sit. He goes willingly but rolls his eyes to make sure she understands that he is not a fan of this.

Derek ends up laying between Erica and Isaac, Randy half asleep in his lap and chewing absently on a toy while the other three play video games and laugh around him. He's exhausted and a part of him wants to break down and go sleep for the next long, long time.

But he doesn't move, _can't_ move.

Erica wraps an arm around him and holds him. She doesn't say anything, just holds him and continues to play with the other two.

Derek doesn't cry but it's a close call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	3. Chapter 3

It's been two weeks. Two weeks since Derek went to Stiles and told him about Kate. Two weeks of normality that feels weird with this new development in the case of his family's safety. Everything is normal, in these two weeks, but none of it feels that way. Not to him, at least.

Erica and Boyd stayed a couple of days over their welcome, although despite Derek's protests and not so subtle hints for them to leave, they're always welcome here. They stayed, first because Isaac told them to and then because Derek gave up on telling them to get out.

Not even he, emotionally constipated as he is, can deny that having them around is nice. A full house is a nice change, every once in a while.

But eventually, they had to get back to their own lives. They left with tight hugs to both Derek and Isaac, both lingering and Derek's a little tighter than necessary. It has been two weeks, Erica and Boyd are halfway across the globe being tourists, and yet they both still make it a point to check up on Derek.

Every

single

day.

Without fail, every morning there will be a text waiting for him. Every night when he goes to bed, either Erica or Boyd will have send a whole photo set of pictures that they've taken throughout the day, both classic tourist pictures and stupid yet hilarious ones.

Derek pretends to be annoyed and saves every single one of them.

Isaac continues to behave like he always has; quiet and reserved, observant and like an annoying little brother with the way he likes to poke and prod and tease in his own, subtle way. He does his homework, occasionally helps with dinner, cleans his room when he's asked to, nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for the fact that he has started to ask how Derek slept the mornings after Derek doesn't sleep at all, has started to plug in Derek's phone to charge when Derek forgets to, has started to take care of Derek in ways that Derek may not have noticed if he hadn't caught him going through the fridge and throwing out the things that had passed the expiration date one day. Derek starts paying more and closer attention after that.

Isaac is young, only seventeen while Derek is twenty-seven.

When he took him in, Derek made a promise to himself that he would take care of Isaac and help him build up a solid start of a good life, away from his abusive father. In some ways, he has failed on that. It becomes more and more obvious over these two weeks of odd normality and he feels guilty.

Isaac, however, seems perfectly content. He even makes Derek sit and have a movie marathon with him one night, for no reason other than he wants them to. It's as confusing as it is nice.

Stiles is a surprisingly normal presence in his life during these two weeks as well, surprisingly only because he wasn't a part of his life for so many years, yet he fits so well into Derek's routine that it becomes normal very quick. It's a little bit terrifying, actually.

They text daily and when Derek goes into town every few days with freshly harvested and washed crops to sell and groceries to buy, he meets Stiles for lunch. Sometimes they talk about the case, mostly they don't. Stiles always carefully avoids the Kate subject, which Derek is silently grateful for.

He's terrified of what will come of that conversation, if it ever does happen. He's terrified to find out whether Stiles has gotten any new leads or not, terrified to find out whether Kate is going after Cora now or later or not at all. He's grateful that they're not talking about it, at least not yet.

Cora, that's another part of his life that's normal. Normal in the sense that she barely talks to him, only for long enough to let him know that yes, she is alive and yes, she is fine, please stop calling and sending a million texts.

(He only sends a few, maybe once a day, but Cora likes to exaggerate when she's annoyed. And she's constantly annoyed with him because she hates him but that's fine. That's not new either, that's just normal and he finds comfort in that, comfort in knowing she hasn't forgiven him either.)

The one thing that isn't normal during these two weeks is that Derek has a new number in his contact list; a coroner named Alan Deaton. Deaton has called numerous times over the past week, asking about funeral arrangements for Laura.

Funeral arrangements.

Derek has planned way too many funerals for way too many people, yet somehow it still comes as a shock that he has to do it again. Laura has been dead for almost a month now but only when Deaton calls for the second time, asking him what he would like them to do with the body, does it really hit him.

Laura is dead. Laura is gone and she's not coming back. She won't be calling and sassing him, she won't be teasing him about his hair nor will she be giving him conditioner and other hair related advice. She won't be sending selfies from around the country, sometimes alone but sometimes with a new friend that she made during her travels.

She will be doing none of that because she's dead.

Derek tells Deaton that he'll get back to him on that and then proceeds to do nothing about it. He can't get himself to deal with it, not right now, so he keeps putting it off, using his farm as an excuse and a distraction, which is why he started doing it in the first place, if he's being honest with himself.

It's time consuming and exhausting and distracting enough that he only thinks about the funeral arrangements when he sees the missed calls from Deaton, all of which he ignores. He's gonna have to deal with it sooner or later but not now.

He never calls back and the calls stop coming. Derek suspects Stiles might have had a hand in why because Derek may have made an offhanded comment about it the night before they stop but Stiles doesn't bring it up so neither does Derek.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek is out in the field of crops, sweaty and hair a mess of a bun, and distracting himself from, well, everything, when Randy suddenly barks from inside. It brings him out of his head and into reality, making him aware of the car that's pulling up to the front of the house.

Derek doesn't drop or put down any of the tools in his hand, doesn't bother to brush off any of the dirt and mud caked on his pants and boots nor does he bother trying to make his hair look less of a bird's nest. He bothers with none of it before he stands and walks around to the front of the house, a small smile pulling at his lips when he sees Stiles stepping out of the car.

However, the smile is short lived because there's a badge hanging around Stiles' neck and Derek flashes back to the day they reunited, back when Stiles told him about Laura's death. Suddenly, all Derek can think about is horrible, thinking Stiles is here for work. He automatically assumes the worst and it dampens the happiness that comes with seeing Stiles.

Suddenly, he doesn't want to announce his presence at all. But he does because he can't not. It is Stiles, after all. Even if he doesn't and tries to slither away again, Stiles will notice him one way or another.

“Did you catch her yet?” Derek calls out as he forces himself to keep moving forward.

Stiles turns to him, taking his eyes off the house. Derek tries to ignore the way he flushes a little at the smile Stiles gives him when he points to the newest addition to the porch; the rainbow flag that's waving in the wind behind the furniture.

It was Isaac's idea, actually, to stop hiding it and let it be aired out with the pride that it represents. Maybe it wasn't his intention or maybe it was, but having it there is a reminder to Derek that while Kate has taken a lot from him, she will never take his pride away.

It's terrifying, a little bit, but whenever that becomes too overwhelming, he reminds himself that the flag isn't just for him but for Isaac too. That usually helps, makes it easier to let it stay there.

Stiles doesn't make a verbal comment about it though. He just smiles and starts walking to meet him halfway. From afar, Stiles looked so put together compared to Derek but now that they're so close, Derek can see the dark circles under his eyes and the slight indents in his cheeks.

Derek suddenly wants to feed him but he holds back that urge and the urge to invite him to join him and Isaac for dinner later.

“Uh, no,” Stiles says when they're in front of each other. “I haven't caught her yet but we're making progress. Subtle and discreet progress, as promised. I'm not here to talk about the case with you though, so let's stop that conversation right now and pin it for another time.”

It becomes a little easier to breathe, knowing Stiles isn't here because of the case or with more bad news to ruin his already shitty, well, life.

Derek quirks a curious brow. “Then why are you here?” he asks.

“What, I can't just wanna see you?” Stiles asks, scoffing in offense. “Our friendship is way more than the case, I'll have you know.”

“Oh really?” Derek asks, smiling a little.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles says and nods. “And to be honest with you, I'm so fucking tired. I've been working non-stop since I got this case handed to me and while I know I promised that this would all be over soon, I really need a break.”

“You don't have to explain,” Derek says with a shake of his head, ignoring the stab of guilt. “You need a break, you take one.”

“Right,” Stiles says and smiles widely at him. “So, that's why I'm here. To take a break. With you. If you're not busy, that is. I just thought, I don't know– I thought maybe we could hang out, catch up a little more?”

Derek looks at him for a minute, lets his smile grow while he watches a pink flush spread across Stiles' pale cheeks. His heart does a funny thing but he ignores it and doesn't ask himself why it keeps happening.

The smile, however, quickly turns into a grin.

He lifts the tools in his hands and asks, “How do you feel about farming?”

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Watching Stiles try to figure out farming is as painful as it is hilarious and entertaining. He's not great at it, despite the several and constant directions Derek gives him and despite the several corrections he gives him. Then again, Derek wasn't great when he started out either.

While Derek is careful and practiced, Stiles is clumsy and just shy of terrible. He would be completely terrible at it, one hundred percent and without a doubt, but somehow he still manages to do something right every once in a while.

Derek doesn't find it annoying, which is more than a little surprising. His farm is precious to him, his crops the one thing in his life that he is genuinely proud of because he did that, he takes care of this beautiful field of crops. He's maybe slightly overprotective about his farm and, usually, he's reluctant to let other people help him in fear of them messing up his system.

Stiles comes close to messing it up more times than he can count, yet he doesn't find it as annoying as he thought he would.

Maybe it's because when Stiles does mess it up a little, he fixes it immediately. Maybe it's because he makes a joke out of it to lighten the mood when Derek glowers and glares, because that's what he does. It's like a special talent of his, this knowing exactly how to make Derek laugh and feel at ease even when he's being an annoying little shit.

Or maybe it's because Derek knows Stiles and trusts him. Stiles used to be a lot clumsier when he was a kid, used to destroy just about everything he could get his hands on, but that has changed and it makes it a little easier for Derek to put his trust in him and let him help him on the farm.

That's not to say it doesn't annoy him at all, of course. There is still this little tickle of annoyance that he can't ignore even when he tries to, but he doesn't yell (much) nor does he tell Stiles to get the hell out.

Either way, it's entertaining and Derek's cheeks almost hurt with how much he's been smiling these past few hours.

It's surprising how long Stiles manages to hold out. His clothes get dirty but he doesn't seem to mind that one bit and even kneels down in the dirt and mud up to several times, so concentrated that he apparently doesn't notice the wet dirt seeping into his pants.

Derek guides him through a few other things but then he leaves him to it, trusts him to deal with it on his own. Meanwhile, he goes to the barn that's small enough to qualify as a big shed and gets into his tractor to drive it out. He gets to work, carefully avoiding Stiles' area.

In the distance, despite the noise from the tractor, Derek can hear Stiles switching between cheering and complaining loudly, most likely at him but Derek pretends to not hear it and throws up his free hand, curling all but one finger down.

Lunch time nears, Derek's stomach reminds him with a low rumble. He drives over and parks a bit away from where Stiles is stood in the middle of the field, tongue poking out of the corner of his lips and hands working.

“Stop watching me,” Stiles says suddenly, and Derek blinks out of his staring daze.

“Why?” he asks. “So you can destroy my crops while I'm not looking?”

Pouting and glaring, Stiles turns to him.

“I hate you,” he says. “I'm sweating, my arms and legs are sore, I'm hungry, you're making me do manual labor for free, and I hate you. You're a terrible person.”

“I'm not making you do anything,” Derek says. “You volunteered.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles says, no heat in his words. “I'm gonna steal your food.”

“Is it stealing if I'm offering it to you?” Derek asks.

“Uh,” Stiles says intelligently. “I guess not? Well, it depends on what you're offering. I might just steal something else.”

“I'm offering to make you lunch,” Derek says. He pauses, eyes wandering over Stiles' dirty form. “And maybe some clean clothes, too.”

Stiles blinks and looks down at him. He makes a face, like he only just now notices how dirty he is.

“Gross,” he says. “Yeah, I'll take both of that, thank you.”

Groaning and rolling his sore shoulders, Stiles walks out of the field and heads toward the house. Derek watches him for a minute or two, a smile on his lips that he can't deny is a little fond, but then his stomach rumbles again and it snaps him out of it. He starts up the tractor again and drives it back into the shed.

It takes him about half an hour to clean everything up. It would have taken him less time if Stiles hadn't left everything on the ground for him to clean up. Silently, he tells himself to complain about it later or maybe even get revenge somehow but not now. He can do it later.

He finds Stiles on the porch, laying flat on his back with his arms and legs stretched out like a starfish. His eyes are closed and there's a small whine coming out from between his clenched teeth. There's mud and dirt stuck to his clothes, some even across his cheek, and he's sweaty. He probably stinks horribly.

“Couldn't make it further?” Derek asks and steps onto the porch.

“I'm not cut out for farming,” Stiles says. “No fucking wonder you're so buff, goddamn.”

Derek quirks a brow. “Buff?” he repeats.

Stiles opens an eye and squints up at him. “Oh, come on,” he says. “Like you don't already know.”

Derek stares at him, the other brow quirking too.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” Stiles groans at him. “I'm not gonna stroke your ego, dickface.” A beat, then he grins. “But I will–”

“Don't finish that,” Derek interrupts, then kicks at Stiles' booted foot. “I think I promised you clean clothes, so get up.”

Stiles whines and dramatically rag dolls. “I can't move,” he whines.

“You're impossible,” Derek says with a sigh, rolling his eyes.

“Remember how you used to give me piggyback rides?” Stiles asks and smiles widely up at him. “That would be awesome right now.”

“And here I thought special agents were supposed to be in great shape,” Derek deadpans.

“Shut up and carry me, you fart.”

Eventually, Derek gets Stiles inside. It takes a lot of struggling and fighting (Stiles) and a lot of whining (also Stiles) and a little pulling and threatening (Derek), but somehow they manage to get inside, laughing and panting a little.

Randy greets them excitedly, nearly tripping because of how fast he comes running down the stairs. He doesn't seem concerned though and continues over to them. His tail wags even faster when Stiles reaches out to pet him, tongue lolling sideways out of his mouth.

Derek smiles and watches them for a moment but then, when the smell suddenly hits him, he drags Stiles with him up the stairs and into his bedroom. Randy hobbles along excitedly, not wanting to miss out on anything.

Derek finds some clean clothes for Stiles to wear; a pair of sweatpants, a sweater that he hasn't used in ages and should fit him, and some socks in case he wants them. He hands them to Stiles and lets him use the bathroom first, busying himself with picking out some clean clothes for himself and playing with Randy until Stiles steps back out.

There's something... Derek isn't sure how to describe it but it feels _warms_ when Stiles steps out of the bathroom wearing his clothes. His heart decides to do that stupid thing again and his breath catches a little in his throat when Stiles rolls up the sleeves of the sweater a little.

Stiles, however, seems completely oblivious to it.

“Dude, this sweater is so fucking soft,” he says and smiles brightly down at himself. “I would literally rather wear this than a blanket cape and that's saying something.”

“Blanket cape,” Derek manages to get out, tone surprisingly dry. “How old are you, again?”

Stiles gives him a sour look and sticks his tongue out at him. Derek pointedly raises his brows and gives him a look, to which Stiles flips him off.

“Come on, Randy,” Stiles says and heads out of the room. “We're gonna steal some of the mean dick's food.”

Randy hobbles after Stiles with no hesitation, tail wagging happily behind him. Derek bites out a low _traitor_ but doesn't bother fighting the smile that pulls at his lips when Stiles' voice travels back into the room from the hall, calling Randy a good boy in a high and soft voice.

Derek gets himself cleaned up and into some clean clothes quickly, then he grabs Stiles' dirty clothes and his own and throws it into the washing machine before he heads to the kitchen. There, he finds Randy on his back on the floor, stretched out and with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Stiles is crouched over him, rubbing his belly and making cooing noises.

It's ridiculous.

Adorable, yes, but ridiculous nonetheless and Derek can't help but snort at the sight.

“I thought you said you were gonna steal my food,” Derek says. “Not my dog.”

“Why not both?” Stiles asks, shooting him a grin. “But nah, I'm just holding your dog hostage until you make me that lunch you promised.”

“Oh, how terrible for him,” Derek deadpans.

Randy pants happily at him.

Derek makes them sandwiches, adding and taking out various things when Stiles protests or asks for it. He makes one for Isaac too, finishes that one first because he always does. It has become a habit that he doesn't notice until he's already done. He makes his own last, after handing Stiles his, while Stiles gets them both something to drink.

Randy trots over and lays down on the floor under the kitchen table, biting into the toy that's been thrown there earlier. Stiles sits down and eyes his sandwich hungrily, and Derek sets his things down but doesn't sit, not yet.

Instead, he steps out of the kitchen and calls out, “Isaac! Lunch!” before he joins Stiles at the table.

Isaac comes shuffling into the kitchen when Stiles and Derek are a good part through their respective sandwiches. Neither of them have said much since they started eating, both too hungry to really do anything but shove food into their mouths, but the silence hasn't been awkward. Rather, it's been comfortable.

Isaac comes to a stop a step into the kitchen, eyes flickering from Derek to Stiles and back again. He raises a brow in a silent question with his eyes on Derek, and Derek narrows his eyes in response, a silent warning not to say a word.

Isaac says nothing, only gives him a knowing grin. He walks over to the table and crouches down to give Randy a quick head rub before he stands again, takes his plate, and then turns to walk back out, throwing a thanks over his shoulder as he takes a bite and disappears.

“He knows he could've stayed, right?” Stiles asks after a minute.

“He knows,” Derek says. “He's... well, he'll join if he wants to.”

Derek is used to Isaac not wanting to join the table when they eat. Isaac likes his own space, likes to eat by himself. He will join on good days and days that aren't bad, but on bad days he'll barely even leave his room. He knows that no one in this house will ever hurt him, not as long as Derek is around to protect him but, well, abuse fucks a person up.

Derek knows and understands this, and he gives Isaac the space that he sometimes needs while simultaneously making sure he knows he's safe here.

Danger and disaster follow Derek around, has since it entered his life in the form of one Kate Argent. It makes it hard to promise Isaac that he's completely and fully safe here in Derek's house because Derek doesn't know if Kate ever will come for him and might take Isaac, too.

But every day, he makes sure Isaac knows that _Derek_ will never hurt him. And Derek will give his life to protect him, if he has to. Isaac is worth a hundred of him, after all.

“You know, it's kinda cute,” Stiles says and smiles at him. “You and him. It's like you're father and son.”

“Don't,” Derek says immediately, giving him a displeased look. “Do not say that. I'm not his dad.”

“Okay, sourpuss,” Stiles says, chuckling and holding up his hands. “I'm just saying, you kinda act like it.”

Derek glares at him, displeased and not amused.

Stiles winks at him, clearly very amused. But there's a fondness in the smile he gives Derek, a smile that gets hidden when he opens his mouth and takes a large bite of his sandwich. It never leaves his eyes though, stays there as they lock onto Derek.

Derek looks away, his ears heating, and focuses on eating his own sandwich.

They finish their sandwiches in comfortable silence, silence where Stiles occasionally kicks Derek under the table and Derek kicks back because they're both secretly children despite their age. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because that's what they used to do, back when they actually were kids and best friends.

Being around Stiles again – it has brought part of that back to Derek.

Mouths full, Derek glares across the table and Stiles grins at him. They both kick, knocking their feet under the table, and Stiles nearly chokes on his bite. Derek snorts and slaps his back.

After, when their plates are empty and their glass are getting there, Derek leans back and stretches his legs out until his feet find Randy who's sound asleep under the table, snoring softly. Randy instinctively rolls onto his back and Derek rubs at his belly.

“Did you keep up with your languages?” Stiles asks after a minute. “I remember you used to fixate on one word in every language on the globe and would just say it over and over and over again.”

“Until you told me to shut up,” Derek finishes with a smile. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“It was annoying,” Stiles says, laughing. “But, well, kinda cute too. So, did you?”

Derek shrugs. “Some of it,” he says. “Mostly Spanish but it's rusty.”

Stiles hums, rests his chin in his hand, and looks at him. “Tell me something in Spanish,” he says.

Derek looks at him, thinking. There are about a million things he wants to tell him, a million things he doesn't know how to put into words because he's never been good at that. He likes languages, likes– well, used to like to sit and learn new words in every language. If he could get himself to do it, he would probably still like it but that's not important.

His Spanish is rusty because he hasn't used it in years. He used to speak it all the time with his father, the one who taught it to him and all of his siblings in the first place. Keeping up with it and practicing it always felt so empty and lonely without his father to respond to him, so Derek didn't want to and gave up on it.

But he does remember one phrase that his father taught one day when Stiles was driving him crazy and making him angry, continuously poking at him to get a rise out of him. He remembers it despite not thinking about it for years and the words come out easily.

“Que te la pique un pollo,” he says. He doesn't mean for the words to come out soft but they do.

“That's hot,” Stile says and grins. “What did you say?”

“I said you're a piece of shit,” Derek says without hesitation and smiles at him.

Stiles scoffs and says, “ _You're_ the piece of shit.”

“Mature,” Derek says dryly and grabs his glass, downing the rest of it.

“I know a bit of Spanish too,” Stiles says. “Picked up a few words in college, you know how it is.”

“I don't,” Derek says. “Never went to college.”

Stiles blinks at him. “Wait, really?”

“Kinda hard to focus on your education when your family is being murdered,” Derek deadpans.

“Ah-ah!” Stiles exclaims and holds up a finger in warning. “I said no talk about the case.”

“You also said you wanted to catch up,” Derek says, raising his brows. “Most of the years after we stopped hanging out, I spend running from a serial killer.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something but no words come out. His mouth hangs open for a few seconds, then he snaps it closed and leans heavily back in his seat.

“Okay, good point.”

“So, you were saying about Spanish?” Derek prompts.

“Right, well, I only know a little bit,” Stiles says, “and I'm probably gonna completely butcher the pronunciation but, uh... eres mi mejor amigo?”

Derek stares at him for a moment, ignoring the way his heart nearly skips a beat.

“Are you asking or telling me?” he asks.

“Sort of both,” Stiles says. “I'm asking about the pronunciation but I'm telling you that.”

“You said it fine,” Derek says. He dips his chin and smiles down at his hands. “You're my best friend too, Stiles.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says, his grin audible in his voice.

“You mind if I ask about that, by the way?” Derek asks after a beat and looks back up.

“Ask about what?”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“No, I mean, do you mind if I ask about Stiles?”

“Oh, you mean why'd I change my name?”

Derek nods.

“Sure,” Stiles says, shoulders jumping briefly. “You can ask about that.”

“Okay,” Derek says. “What happened to Mieczysław?”

Stiles smiles at him, small but soft. “You remember how to pronounce it right.”

“Of course I do,” Derek says and gives him a look. “I didn't spend hours practicing for nothing.”

“God, you've always been such a fucking nerd,” Stiles says.

Derek rolls his eyes but doesn't fight the little smile that tugs at his lips.

“Anyway, I got tired of having to constantly teach people how to pronounce it right,” Stiles says. “Mieczysław is still my legal name because I don't hate it enough to get rid of it, but I like Stiles.”

Derek smiles and says, “I like Stiles too.”

“Duh,” Stiles says and grins at him. “I'm awesome.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

Stiles kicks him under the table and says, “Shut up, you think so too.”

“No, I don't,” Derek lies.

“That is the biggest pile of bullshit I have ever heard.”

“If you cleaned your ears, maybe you'd hear that I was telling the truth.”

“Yeah, right. Admit it, you think I'm awesome.”

“No.”

“No, you won't admit it or no, you don't think I'm awesome?”

“No, I don't think you're awesome.”

“What's that?” Hand behind his ear, Stiles leans forward. “Oh, you _do_ think I'm awesome? Aw, that is so sweet, Derek.”

Derek stares at him, deadpan. “You're an idiot.”

“An awesome idiot,” Stiles corrects and winks at him.

“Sure,” Derek says, unable to hold in his chuckle despite fighting it.

“Yes!” Stiles exclaims and throws his fist in the air.

Derek rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips.

“Anyway,” he says, pointedly moving on. “When did you decide to change your name? I remember you were always very persistent with people learning how to pronounce it right.”

“I was,” Stiles says with a shrug. “But I got tired of it, uh, I think it was right at the beginning of my first year of high school? Yeah, that seems about right. My best friend at the time – his name's Scott. He's a vet in Beacon Hills now, I think. We kinda don't talk much anymore. Anyway, he tried really hard to get it right but he couldn't, kept making the same fucking mistake, and it was physically painful, actually.”

Derek huffs out a chuckle.

“You laugh now but you weren't there,” Stiles says. “Finally, I was like dude, just call me Stiles. And then it caught on and well, here I am. I guess it grew on me. Like a fungus, or something.”

Derek hums, nodding. “Fitting, then.”

“Yeah, it– Hang on.” Stiles gapes at him. “Did you, Derek fucking Hale, imply that I'm a fungus?”

Derek shrugs, smiling at him.

“Oh my God, you're literally the biggest piece of shit,” Stiles says and flicks a crumb at him.

“Probably,” Derek says and flicks him back. “Tell me more about your high school time.”

“No,” Stiles moans. “Why would you wanna hear about my awkward teenage years?”

Derek shrugs and says, “Because it's you.”

Stiles sighs heavily. It turns into a groan partway through when he rubs at his face, though.

“Fine,” he says. “I'll tell you about my awkward teenage years, including the Great Sexuality Crisis of '07 and the time my dad almost arrested me and Scott.”

“You almost got arrested?” Derek asks, raising an amused brow.

“I was being rebellious!” Stiles says, voice an octave higher. “It happens!”

Derek gives him a look. “Sure it does.”

“If you're gonna be a shit about it, then I might just not tell you anything.”

“Fine,” Derek says and holds up his hands in surrender. “I won't be a shit.”

“Good,” Stiles says and starts talking.

Stiles talks a lot and for a while. Derek listens to every word he says, even when the words come out too quick after one another. Stiles' high school years, Derek learns, were wild and mildly chaotic at times. But they're also very _Stiles_ and that's the part that matters, even when Derek feels a stab of jealousy in his chest when Stiles talks about the girls and the occasional boy he kissed.

Huh. Interesting.

Stiles is in the middle of telling a story about a senior thing that Derek has only heard whispers about despite going to the same high school for almost two years, when his phone starts ringing, vibrating loudly where it has been laying on the table for hours now.

Derek's eyes go there before he can tell himself not to look and he sees the _Ally A_ contact lighting up the screen, a picture of Allison underneath. Immediately, he loses the sense of calm and warmth that talking with Stiles and being around him has given him.

“Damn it, Ally,” Stiles mutters under his breath and grabs his phone. He visibly hesitates, thumb hovering over the accept call button. He looks at Derek, a silent question in his eyes.

Derek smiles a little at him, not even bothering to hide how fake it is.

“You should take it,” he says. “Might be important.”

Stiles sighs and quietly says, “That's what I'm worried about.”

Derek doesn't get to ask what he means by that because before he can, Stiles accepts the call and puts the phone to his ear. He turns a little, angling himself slightly away from Derek and looking away.

Derek watches him, an unwilling frown pulling at his face.

“I'm a little busy, Ally,” Stiles answers the call with, then pauses for a long minute while Allison says something.

Whatever she's saying can't be good, judging by the way Stiles' face first falls and then hardens.

Derek stops breathing.

“Mexico, you said?” Stiles asks and throws a glance at Derek.

There's a silent question in his eyes but Derek doesn't know what the question is nor does he hear whatever Stiles says next. He can put two and two together, and the result is making his stomach tighten and flip upside down.

Kate is in Mexico or maybe heading there, he doesn't know nor does it matter. She's heading there, which can only mean she's going for South America next which is where Cora has been living for the past couple of years. Under a different name, sure, but she's still there. And Kate is heading right for her.

Derek doesn't hear or notice when Stiles ends the call. He's starting to panic, doesn't hear or notice when Stiles moves either. Not until there are two hands grabbing his face and lifting his head, forcing him to lift his eyes off of the table and meet Stiles' worried ones already looking back at him.

“You with me, buddy?” Stiles asks, voice soft.

Derek looks at him for a long minute. He doesn't know how to answer that, doesn't really plan to answer it either. He only has one thing on his mind right now.

“I have to get Cora,” he says. He has to.

Stiles nods a little, brows furrowed. “I know,” he says and gives him a small, crooked smile.

Stiles' hands stay on Derek's face for a little bit, fingers caressing. And then they're gone, and Derek doesn't even think before he leaves the table and hurries to his room where he starts packing a bag, phone already out to buy himself a plane ticket.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek stuffs the duffel bag into the trunk. There's not much in it; an extra set of clothes, his passport and wallet, a book to read on the flight, not much else. He doesn't need anything else, he won't be gone for long. Hopefully.

He stands back up and shuts the trunk of his car. He stands there for a moment, taking in a deep breath, before he lifts his gaze and turns his attention to the porch where Isaac is standing, hands in his pockets and that look on his face that is an obvious tell of how not okay he is. Randy is sitting by his side, not looking much different than usual.

Derek offers them, mostly Isaac, a smile and hopes it comes across reassuring. It probably doesn't but Isaac smiles back anyway.

“Take care of the house while I'm gone, okay?” Derek calls out.

Isaac is silent for a moment, then he calls back, “Only if you come back in one piece.”

“I will,” Derek promises.

“Then fine,” Isaac says and lifts his shoulders. “I'll make sure Randy doesn't shit inside.”

Derek smiles and huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. Isaac returns his smile and, this time, it looks more convincing and real than before. He doesn't move though and neither does Derek. They hugged before going outside, they don't need to again.

Stiles comes up to the car and pulls Derek in for a hug before Derek can even fully turn to him. Derek stands frozen for a second but then Stiles' arms tighten their grip around him and Derek makes himself move. He lifts his arms, wrapping them back around Stiles in a returning hug.

“Look after yourself,” Stiles says into his ear, “or I will kick your stupid ass. I mean it.”

Derek doesn't say anything. When they step apart and Stiles gives him that stubborn look, Derek smiles and gives a short nod. Apparently that's good enough for Stiles because he nods back and smiles.

With one last wave to Isaac and Randy, one last shared look with Stiles, Derek gets into his car and drives off, heart pounding anxiously in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	4. Chapter 4

It takes Derek about nine hours, give or take, to fly to South America – Colombia, to be specific – and then another tortuously long half an hour before he gets himself a rental car, half an hour that he spends pacing and tapping his foot and obsessively checking his phone to make sure Cora's last text that he received a few minutes before he boarded is real.

He probably annoys the hell out of everyone around him but he can't get himself to care. All he cares about is getting his little sister back with him and to keep her safe until Kate is no longer a threat, if that ever becomes a reality. Nothing else matter, not to him, not at the moment.

Derek didn't sleep for a single second on the plane and he doesn't stop anywhere to get some rest either. He only sends Stiles a text to let him know he landed, gets into his rental car, and starts driving.

Cora never uses her own name, not anymore or anywhere. It makes finding her difficult and near impossible because she's learned and become good at hiding. She's had to, they all have. But Derek knows where she is and where she lives, so he doesn't stop anywhere to sleep or eat or anything, just drives straight to the address where he knows she will be.

The building is busy and loud. That's the first thing Derek notices when he opens the door to the lobby and steps inside. The building isn't necessarily big, it's only a few stories, but every apartment seems to be taken and most of the residents are noisy.

Derek would hate living here. He's more than a little surprise that Cora lives here, considering the fact that she's always hated when people were too noisy despite growing up with such a big family. Maybe she lives here exactly because of that, he realizes when he heads up the stairs to the second floor. Maybe she misses the noise. He gets that.

It doesn't take him long to find the right apartment. Derek stands in front of it and stares at the number staring back at him for a good minute, maybe two. He hesitates, not because he doesn't want to see her but because he's not sure if she wants to see him.

Scratch that, he knows she doesn't want to see him. And now he's showing up unannounced.

Derek takes in a deep breath, curls both hands into fists, and knocks.

A voice calls from the other side of the door, one he doesn't recognize. A few seconds later, there are footsteps coming toward him. He swallows thickly and moves half a step back. The door opens and he comes face to face with his little sister for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Cora looks older, understandably. She's grown a lot, has gotten taller and has put on quite a lot of muscles, her bare arms showing them off. Her face is still the same, a little slimmer maybe but it isn't the biggest change. Her hair is still long too, currently gathered in a messy braid that's resting over her left shoulder.

She looks good, healthy, and alive.

Surprised and angry, too.

They stare at each other for a while, neither of them saying a word. Derek doesn't fight the smile that forms on his lips. He lets it grow because, despite the displeased glare that is directed at him, he's happy to see her. She can hate him all she wants, he doesn't care. She's still his sister and he loves her. Always, no matter what.

“You look old,” Cora finally says, breaking the heavy silence between them.

Derek smiles, a little sadly, and says, “You grew up.”

“Yeah, that happens,” Cora says. She pauses for a beat, eyes gliding over him. “Your hair looks stupid. Did they get rid of hairdressers, or what?”

“No,” Derek says. “I just like it.”

Cora hums, short and aborted. She doesn't say anything and neither does Derek. They stare at each other again, until Cora sighs and steps aside, motioning toward the inside of her apartment.

“Get in,” she say– _orders_. “I don't want my nosy neighbors asking questions.”

Derek doesn't ask, although he wants to. He steps inside and waits for Cora to close the door. They stand in the small entry way for a couple of awkward seconds, before Cora rolls her eyes and heads further into the apartment. Derek takes in a breath and follows her quietly.

It's a small place that doesn't necessarily scream Cora but definitely has parts of her laying around, like in the artwork put up on the walls and the music collection stacked on a shelf that they pass on the way to the living room. It's small and cozy, the walls thin enough that you can hear the other residents moving around on the other side.

But Derek isn't one to judge, so he says nothing. Cora has a roof over her head, that's all that matters.

There's a guy splayed out on the couch in the small living room in the apartment, one leg stretched out on the cushions and the other bend with a foot on the ground. His hair is short, shaved down to barely an inch all around his head, and there's a carefully styled stubble running along his jaw.

He's mid yawn when they step into the room, scratching his belly. He turns to them with mild interest that quickly becomes flaming interest when his eyes land on Derek. His gaze is assessing, eyes going down and then back up in a slow once-over.

“Who's this guy?” he asks after a moment, question directed at Cora but eyes never leaving Derek.

Derek opens his mouth to speak but Cora doesn't let him get a word out.

“None of your business, Lucas,” she says and crosses her arms. “Give us some privacy.”

The guy – Lucas, apparently – throws his arms out and says, “Bud, you're not the only one who lives here. You can't just throw me out of my own living–”

“Lucas,” Cora interrupts firmly and points to one of the closed doors. “Leave.”

Lucas puts his hands up in surrender and rolls his eyes as he stands. He mumbles a few words under his breath but Derek doesn't hear any of them. The door opens, then closes and it's just the two of them now. Alone.

Cora sits down on the couch and Derek sits down on the slightly uncomfortable chair opposite it.

“What are you doing here, Derek?” Cora asks after a beat.

Derek looks at her for a moment. “I miss you, Cora,” he says.

“That's why we have phones.”

“You never answer your phone.”

“I answer my phone.”

“Only my texts and only hours after I've send them. And you know talking over the phone isn't the same as being face to face.”

Cora sighs. “That's not a good enough reason to show up here unannounced.”

Derek falls silent. He looks at her and she looks back. She's changed a lot, grown too much too quick. They both have and Derek hates that. He hates that it's not over yet, that he has to take her away from the life she's building here. But what other choice does he have?

“You know why I'm here,” he says.

“To annoy me?” Cora asks, quirking a brow. “You do that on the phone.”

“Cora,” Derek sighs.

“I know what you're gonna says,” she says, “and the answer is no.”

“Cora,” Derek tries again. “You don't know what she's capable of.”

“I have a girlfriend,” Cora says, a bit abruptly.

Derek blinks at her, stunned for a second. “Congratulations,” he says slowly.

“I have friends,” she continues. “People I care about, people who care about me. I finally have that again, Derek. I'm not just gonna let go of that.”

“Cora, please–”

“No, Derek,” Cora says sternly. “I can take care of myself, I don't need you. And to be honest, I don't think I can handle being around you.”

Cora doesn't continue. She sits, chest heaving a little. The look on her face is one of fury and vulnerability. Derek doesn't say anything either, not for a while. He looks at her, knows his eyes are pleading and knows it will do no good.

“Laura died,” he says after a minute.

Cora clenches her jaw. “I know that,” she says.

“Laura died, Cora,” Derek says, a little louder. His voice breaks but he doesn't care. He's desperate. “She was killed. You are all I have left. You and I, we're the last of our family. I can't lose you too, so please! Please. Just come with me.”

Cora doesn't say anything, nor does she move.

“I know you hate me,” Derek continues, voice smaller and lower now. “And I know you blame me for everything that's happened, I get that. You have every right to, I won't try to change any of that. But please. The murderer... She's in Mexico and probably headed right here, and I don't want to have to bury both of my sisters.”

Cora is quiet for a long, long minute.

“I don't hate you,” she says finally. “I hate... everything that's happened and yeah, maybe I'm not your biggest fan at the moment but I don't hate you. And I don't blame you either.”

Derek feels his throat close but he ignores it.

“Then why won't you come with me?” he asks. “You're not safe here.”

“I'm not safe anywhere,” Cora says with a bitter laugh. “Don't you get that? I can go to the other side of the planet and I still won't be safe. Being with you won't magically make me safe, Derek. It doesn't work like that.”

“Maybe not,” Derek says. “But I want to be able to protect my little sister and I can't do that when you keep running away from me.”

“You're an asshole,” Cora says. “I know that look in your eyes. You've given up, haven't you?”

Derek looks at her for a moment, then he lowers his gaze. He doesn't say anything.

“So, what,” Cora scoffs. “Your idea of protecting me is to sacrifice yourself if– _when_ the murderer comes after me? This is why I can't go with you, Derek. You are so willing to sacrifice yourself for me and I can't deal with that. You think you're the only one who's afraid to lose the last person in your family? Well, you're not.”

“Then why are you pushing me away?” Derek asks, finally finding his voice.

“Because it hurts,” Cora says. “It hurts knowing you're willing to give your life for me.”

“Cora,” he says and looks at her. “You're worth a hundred of me. Why wouldn't–”

“Stop that,” Cora snaps, cutting him off. “If you're gonna start calling yourself worthless, then my answer really is no.”

Derek blinks, then slowly smiles at her, just a little. “So, if I don't say that, will I be able to change your answer to yes?”

Cora groans and rolls her eyes. “You're the worst,” she says.

“Oh, so you're allowed to be mean to me, but I'm not allowed to be mean to myself?”

“You are really testing my patience right now.”

“I'm your brother, that's my job.”

Cora scoffs and shakes her head, looking away. Derek smiles, the smile only growing wider when Cora looks back at him. She doesn't smile back but it doesn't matter. She doesn't look angry anymore, at least no more than usual.

But her eyes are a little wet, and it turns his smile a little sad.

“If you don't come here and hug me, I'm gonna start crying,” Cora says after a while, voice a little wobbly. “And I don't like crying.”

Derek doesn't hesitate to move. He flies out of his seat and walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a tight hug the second she stands from the couch. She hugs him back, which is surprising but not unwelcoming. He tightens his grip around her and she buries her face in his shoulder.

“Come with me,” Derek begs, voice a whisper. “Please.”

“Okay,” Cora whispers back. “Okay.”

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

They don't go straight to the airport. Cora takes her time packing all her things, which, as it turns out, isn't much and doesn't take long. She fills out a suitcase, a duffel bag, and a small backpack with room to spare in each of them. She doesn't say much while she packs, not even when Lucas pokes his head in and asks if she's leaving.

Derek doesn't say anything either and waits patiently, letting her take all the time she needs. They are in no hurry right now and he knows how hard leaving a place with people you care about is, so he doesn't push. She's safe and he's there, and that's all that matters.

When all the bags are packed, Cora hands them to him and tells him to get the car ready. Derek hesitates for a moment, raising his brows in a silent question. Cora glances pointedly at where Lucas is standing, frowning at them, and then looks back at him. Derek nods, grabs the bags, and gives the two of them a minute alone.

The bags are in the trunk and Derek is in the driver's seat, the engine running, by the time Cora comes out of the building. She gets in and says nothing. Derek opens his mouth to apologize, to tell her how sorry he is to put her through this, but one look from her and he shuts his mouth again.

They drive. Cora gives him directions until they're parked in front of an apartment complex a good thirty minutes from Cora's building. She tells him to stay in the car, so he does. He watches as she walks up to the door, watches as she pushes a button next to it, and watches as, a few moments later, a young woman about Cora's age steps out of the door.

Derek puts two and two together when Cora leans in and kisses her. He swallows back the guilt and looks away, giving them some form of privacy.

Cora gets back in the car a few minutes later. Derek looks at her but she doesn't look back, her face hard and jaw clenched. She looks upset. Derek doesn't blame her.

“Just go,” she says after several seconds, so Derek does.

They drive in silence for what feels like an eternity but, according to the digital clock on the radio in the car, Derek knows it's only about four minutes. He's not the one who breaks the silence though, Cora is.

“I didn't break up with her,” she says.

“I didn't expect you to,” Derek says.

“I really like her, Derek,” Cora says. “And I'm gonna go back to her soon.”

Derek pauses for a moment. “She could've come with us,” he says.

“No,” Cora says and shakes her head. “The farther she stays away right now, the safer she is. But as soon as this is over, I'm going back for her.”

Derek smiles, unable to hold it back. “Will you introduce me to her?” he asks.

“Maybe,” Cora says, pausing for a beat. “Probably. We'll see.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She's smart,” Cora says. There's a fond smile on her lips when Derek glances at her. “Probably smart enough to figure out exactly what this is all about but smart enough to stay away, too. She keeps me in check, you know? Never thought I could have someone like that.”

“She sounds great,” Derek says and smiles. “I'm glad you have her.”

“Yeah,” Cora sighs. “Me too.”

They drive in mostly silence the rest of the way, only talking to argue about what to listen to on the radio when Cora starts fiddling with it after she grows tired of the silence. They stop by a diner to get something to eat, Derek's stomach growling loudly in a reminder that he hasn't eaten in too long. Cora wolfs down her food like she hasn't eaten in too long, either.

Food in their mouths and stomachs, they drive to the airport.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

“ _Mike_ is on the case?” Cora asks, once they're back in the states and driving to the farm

“His name is Stiles now,” Derek says. “But yes.”

“Huh. Never thought I'd see the day where that little hurricane became an agent, of all things.”

“Neither did I,” Derek admits, a fond smile on his lips. “But he's good.”

Cora looks at him, calculating and carefully.

“Hmm,” she hums but says nothing more.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek has only been gone for about thirty hours when he drives up the road and makes a turn to park in front of the farm house, Cora slouching in the passenger seat. It looks the same, not much has changed. He doesn't know why he thought anything would have changed but, for some reason, a part of him did.

It doesn't even feel weird or awkward to have Cora here, to have her see it for the first time, both the house and the farm itself. He's proud of his farm, he really is, but he is a little bit nervous about what Cora has to say about all of it, he can't deny that.

He puts the car in park and turns off the engine, then he leans back and twists slightly in his seat to look at his sister. Cora is staring out the front window, eyes flickering around the outside and mouth opening a bit. There's a slight uptick at the corner of her lips but Derek isn't sure whether it's a smile or a grimace.

It turns out to be neither, because it disappears the moment she huffs.

“I can't believe you're actually a farmer,” she says. “God, you are so boring.”

Derek rolls his eyes and smiles.

“Come on,” he says and unbuckles his seat belt. “Let's go in.”

Randy barks from the top of the stairs the second Derek opens the door. He comes hurrying down the stairs and hobbling over to them with his tail wagging wildly behind him, nearly throwing himself off balance. He keeps forgetting that he only has three legs and can't move this fast without tripping.

Derek lets the bags fall to the floor and crouches down, smiling when Randy jumps up at him and licks sloppily at his face. Randy stays with him for a minute, getting pets and getting Derek's face properly wet with saliva, but then he moves on to Cora. He recognizes her within seconds, even though they've only met a couple of times when he was merely a few months old.

Derek stands and watches the two of them for a minute, but then he turns his attention back to the stairs. Isaac is at the top of them, watching with his arms crossed and a small, crooked smile on his lips that's directed at Derek. At the bottom and moving toward them is Stiles, smiling when their eyes lock.

Derek smiles back and says, “Thanks for not ruining my house.”

“I'm offended that you thought I would,” Stiles says and gives him the stink eye, which is ruined by the smile on his lips. “I do know how to not ruin some things for your information.”

Derek huffs and shakes his head but he doesn't say anything.

Next to him, Cora stands with a groan when Randy finally lets her. He watches as her eyes move over to Stiles, watches as the two of them look each other over, and watches as they recognize each other and both smile widely.

“Shit,” Cora says with a chuckle and steps forward. “Is that you, Freckles?”

“Oh, come on,” Stiles groans and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Why did you have to bring back that stupid nickname?”

“Because duh, of course I did,” Cora says. “Damn, how long's it been? Twelve years?”

“Fifteen,” Derek and Stiles say simultaneously.

Cora gives them a look, Derek blushes, and Stiles snorts.

Cora shakes her head at them but makes no comment, although she looks like she really wants to. Derek is grateful that she doesn't. He holds back a groan when, instead of making a comment, she reaches out and pokes at Stiles' biceps, like she's checking to see if they're real.

“Look at you, man,” she says. “You filled out, huh?”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, laughing. “We don't see each other for fifteen years and the first thing you do is hit on me?”

Cora snorts. “I'm a lesbian _and_ I have a girlfriend,” she says. “Trust me, I'm not hitting on you.”

“You didn't grow up to be straight either?”

Stiles does a little fist pump that shouldn't be adorable but has Derek biting back a laugh anyway, then Stiles holds up his flat palm to Cora.

Cora gives him a look and says, “You're still super lame.”

“Oh, come on,” Stiles says and waves his open hand pointedly. “Don't leave me hanging.”

Cora stares at him for a long moment, then she rolls her eyes and steps over to her bags. She turns her back to Stiles as she bends down to grab them, and Stiles pouts and drops his hand heavily.

Derek shakes his head at them but his attention is pulled away when Isaac comes walking over toward them on quiet feet. He looks a bit uncertain, eyes flickering from Cora to Stiles to Derek. Derek motions him over with a tilt of his head.

“Cora,” he says and puts his hand on Isaac's shoulder. “This is Isaac. Isaac, this is my sister, Cora.”

Cora looks Isaac over once, then nods. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Isaac echoes.

“You didn't tell me you adopted a kid,” Cora says to Derek and raises a brow.

Derek glares at her.

“He likes to say he didn't,” Isaac says, “but that's kinda what happened.”

Derek turns his glare to Isaac. Isaac smiles back.

“I like you,” Cora says and pats Isaac's chest as she moves forward. “We're gonna be friends in no time.”

“Cool,” Isaac says.

“Stiles, show me the guest room,” Cora says and heads for the stairs, bags in hand. “Derek's gonna make us some food. Right, Der?”

Derek rolls his eyes but says, “Fine,” anyway.

Cora throws a bag at Stiles who barely catches it and fumbles a little but follows her up the stairs without protest. Randy hobbles after them excitedly, a toy in his mouth and tail still going a mile a minute and probably throwing off his balance. He doesn't care, never does.

“You know,” Isaac says after a minute. “He never left.”

Derek blinks, turns to him. “What?”

“Stiles,” Isaac says. “He stayed the whole time you were gone, didn't leave for a second. It was actually kinda annoying.”

Derek stares at Isaac for a second, frowning.

He hadn't expected Stiles to stay. It does something to him, knowing that he had even though he didn't need to. It makes his heart do that stupid somersault thing again because apparently that has become a reoccurring thing regarding Stiles.

It's a little annoying, especially when he feels the heat from his ears travel down into his cheeks and the rest of his face. His hair is pulled up and away from his face, so he can't really hide it. Isaac's knowing smile is proof that it is very visible, too.

Derek looks toward the stairs, listens to the sounds of Cora and Stiles puttering around up there. But he doesn't look for long before he shakes himself out of it and drags Isaac with him to the kitchen so they can start making some dinner.

His heart doesn't calm down, not really.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek decides to make something familiar for dinner, something his mom used to make for family reunions. It feels fitting, now that Cora is here to reunite them, so he doesn't even think twice before he puts Isaac to chop vegetables and he himself starts preparing everything else.

Randy comes trotting into the kitchen when the smell of food fills the house. He sits down by Derek's feet and looks up at him with big, round eyes, silently begging for a taste. Derek stares back at him for a moment before he rolls his eyes and throws him a piece of meat, then tells him to go lay down which he does obediently.

The meat is cooking and sizzling in a pot on the stove when Cora and Stiles join them as well. Derek looks over and meets Cora's eyes, hers slightly wide with recognition. It takes a second, then she slowly smiles at him and mouths a _thank you_ , to which he nods and smiles back.

Cora doesn't stay in the kitchen for long. She drags both Isaac and Randy out with her after a while, grabbing one of Randy's ball toys on the way out. The front door opens and, through the window that's pushed open a little in the kitchen, Derek can hear them as they start playing fetch with Randy outside.

In the kitchen, Stiles takes over for Isaac and they settle into a comfortable silence. Derek doesn't let it last for long, though.

“Isaac tells me you didn't leave,” he says, eyes on the food he's preparing.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Was I supposed to?”

Derek shrugs but keeps his gaze downward. He doesn't want to meet Stiles' eyes, afraid of what he might see. He doesn't know what he has to be afraid of but Stiles is getting dangerously close to his heart and he's not sure how to handle that.

Everything, that's the answer. He's afraid of everything.

“You didn't have to stay,” he says after a moment.

“I know,” Stiles says. “But I wanted to. For you.”

Derek glances at him and quietly says, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Stiles says and smiles at him.

He puts his hand on Derek's shoulder for no more than a second but Derek already longs for the warmth of it when it's gone again. He stiffens, willing himself not to react in any way. He wants to lean into Stiles' touch, wants him to touch him with that amount of kindness and care more and often, but he can't do that.

He doesn't deserve that, it's selfish to think that he does. He's already asked too much of Stiles and they're only friends. Best friends, sure, but nothing more.

Derek isn't sure why that bothers him so much.

They fall silent again, this time for a longer stretch of time. Dinner is nearly done by the time Stiles speaks again, breaking the comfortable silence between them that is only disturbed by Cora, Isaac, and Randy playing outside.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Stiles asks.

“You just did,” Derek says flatly.

Stiles throws a carrot at him. It hits him in the head and bounces off, landing on the floor. Derek narrows his eyes and glares at him, while Stiles sticks his tongue out at him.

“Seriously though,” Stiles says. “I wanna ask you something.”

Derek sighs and says, “Go ahead.”

“You don't have to tell me,” Stiles says. “I just–”

“Just ask me, Stiles.”

“Okay.” Stiles pauses for a beat. “How much does Cora know?”

Derek stops what he's doing, head bowed.

“I thought you said not to talk about the case,” he says.

“Come on,” Stiles says, stepping over to him. “This isn't Stiles the Agent asking, this is Stiles the Best Friend.”

Derek takes in a deep breath, holds it, then sighs. He starts preparing the dinner again but he doesn't push Stiles away when he steps over to stand right next to him. The kitchen is hot and Stiles' body heat is only making it that much harder to keep himself from flushing.

“She knows some,” Derek says. “She knows that I knew the murderer. Not how much or in what way, just that I did. She knows that I didn't tell the authorities about it on purpose, which is probably why she hates me. I don't blame her for that.”

“But that's it?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah,” Derek says. He can feel Stiles' eyes on him but he doesn't meet them.

“You never told her what happened to you?” Stiles asks, voice soft.

Derek shakes his head and says, “She doesn't need to know.”

“Derek–”

“I don't want to talk about it, Stiles,” Derek snaps, cutting him off.

The silence from Stiles is heavy and uncomfortable, awkward and tense, and Derek suddenly regrets letting himself snap like that. But he doesn't open his mouth to apologize, doesn't explain to Stiles that he hasn't slept in too long and is probably easier to irritate and anger than normal, doesn't even let himself think about it. Not that it's a good excuse, anyway.

Instead, he keeps cooking and keeps his gaze downward so he doesn't have to see Stiles' face. He doesn't want to feel worse than he already does.

“Fine,” Stiles says after what feels like an eternity. He turns and walks back over to the other side of the kitchen where he goes back to what he was doing earlier.

The rest of the dinner preparations is spend in silence. The longer it stretches out, the worse Derek feels but he still doesn't open his mouth to apologize. He can't get himself to do it even though he knows he should. Stiles deserves that much.

He tries to make himself feel better by telling himself that Stiles should've known he overstepped.

It doesn't help.

Cora and Isaac come back inside a minute before dinner is done, and Stiles puts them to set the table. Randy joins them shortly after, panting, and heads tiredly over to his basket where he lays down with a harrumph and falls asleep within minutes.

Cora makes eye contact with Derek as soon as they sit down, her brows raising in a silent question because of course she would be able to tell that something isn't right with him, even tough they've spend so many years apart with her deliberately avoiding him.

Derek meets her eye and gives her a smile that he hopes is reassuring but knows is nothing but painfully fake. Cora narrows her eyes at him, so he shrugs and mouths _tired_. Cora rolls her eyes but says nothing.

Dinner is spend in mostly silence. Well, at least from Derek. He's too tired to join the conversation, only bothering to give a few, short responses when any of the three around the table try to rope him in. He has been awake for too long and his body is finally starting to react to it, brain shutting down and eyelids feeling heavier and harder to keep open.

But he still has another couple of hours before he can justify going to bed. He still has to clean the kitchen, do the dishes, give Randy his dinner, get Cora sett–

A knee nudges his under the table and Derek blinks, returning to reality. He directs his attention to his right where Stiles is sitting, their knees touching under the table. Stiles smiles at him, a small and tentative one that's accompanied by an apology in his eyes.

Derek stares at him for a moment, then he nods and smiles back.

They're good again.

“This is really good,” Stiles says and shoves a forkful of his portion into his mouth, not that that stops him from continuing to talk. “I'm gonna have you make me food for the rest of my life. I'm serious.”

“You gonna pay me for that?” Derek asks and leans back in his seat, resting his hand on Randy's head when Randy comes over toward him.

“Yeah,” Stiles says around his mouthful. “With my awesome company.”

“Awesome,” Derek repeats, deadpan. “That's stretching it, don't you think?”

Stiles gapes at him, and Derek makes a face.

“Close your mouth,” he says.

Stiles leans over toward him and pointedly chews with his mouth open. Derek groans at him and shoves a hand in his face to push him away, which only makes Stiles laugh and fight back, chewing obnoxiously.

“I can't believe you guys still act like children,” Derek hears Cora say but he doesn't respond, too busy trying to force Stiles' mouth closed while Stiles keeps fighting him.

“Get a room,” Isaac says.

Derek shoots him a warning glare and ignores the blush that warms his ears. In doing so, he stops trying to force Stiles' mouth closed and Stiles takes the opportunity to lean right into his space and chew at him grossly.

Dinner started quiet and peaceful, although a little awkwardly. It ends with Derek shoving a paper towel in Stiles' mouth while Isaac and Cora leave them to their childish games.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

“I should tell you something, by the way,” Stiles says.

They're on the porch, sitting on the wooden chairs facing toward the field of crops where the moon hangs low and the stars are illuminating the dark sky above them. The wind is cold but Stiles is wrapped in a blanket from the living room and Derek is wearing a thick sweater, so neither of them feel it. Plus, they're sitting close enough for their body heat to help some.

Randy is laying by Derek's feet, warming them. He's fast asleep, snoring softy. Inside, the house is quiet. Cora went to bed not long after dinner, worn out after a long day, and Isaac has been playing video games in his room for the past hour.

After dinner, Stiles had helped Derek clean the table and the rest of the kitchen. They got it done much faster than Derek would have by himself. They're a good team, him and Stiles. They get things done fast and, when they're not fighting and bantering on the edge of pure annoyance, they're good together.

Now, Stiles is nursing a beer and Derek is halfway through a cup of hot chocolate.

Derek hums and turns to him. “What's that?” he asks.

“Well,” Stiles says and shifts a little in his seat. “As of about an hour before you came back with Cora, I'm officially off the case.”

“What?” Derek sits up a little straighter and turns to him, brows furrowed. “You got kicked off?”

“No,” Stiles says and shakes his head. “No, I took myself off.”

Derek frowns. “Why?”

“Derek,” Stiles says and looks at him. There's a softness in his voice. “I'm way too close to this. That's never a good idea, especially not with cases like this. It's not good for me and it won't be good for you in the long run either. Cora, too. I'll end up making mistakes and that– that's not fair to you.”

Derek feels his heart sink a little.

“So,” he says. “There's no one on the case, again?”

Stiles gives him a look and asks, “Do you really think I would postpone your abuser from getting caught and punished for what she's done?”

Derek doesn't answer.

“Allison got put on the case,” Stile says. “She's close to it too, the serial killer being her aunt and all, but it's different. She's a great agent and I know she can catch her. Probably faster than I could've. I mean, she was the one who found out where the asshole is in the first place. Or was, I guess.”

Derek stays silent.

“But,” Stiles continues, “between you and me, I'm still gonna help with the case. Unofficially, of course. My superior will kick my ass if she finds out I'm still working on it but I can't not, I know myself. If I don't work on it one way or another, even if it's just being Allison's researcher, I'll drive myself crazy.”

Derek lets out a breath and deflates against his seat. He looks to the starry sky and tries not to think about the way his throat is closing up. Again, he blames it on the severe lack of sleep. But suddenly, he doesn't feel so tired. He feels too awake.

A hand lands on his arm and he glances over to see Stiles giving him that determined look that reminds Derek of the time Stiles decided to climb a tree and then proceeded to break his arm because he didn't know how to climb.

“It'll be over before you know it,” Stiles says.

He says it with so much conviction that Derek almost believes him.

“Are you gonna be put on a different case, then?” he asks.

“Not right away,” Stiles says and looks away, his cheeks pink although it's hard to see in the dark. “I kind of, uh... I kinda requested some time off.”

“Why?” Derek asks, again.

“Because there's this really great guy,” Stiles says and shoots him a small smile, “who I'm really worried about and I would like to maybe crash on his couch until this whole mess is over and the killer who's after him and his sister is behind bars.”

Derek stares at him, not sure what to say.

“I'm not saying you can't handle yourself,” Stiles hurries to say. “I mean, look at you. Of course you can handle yourself. But I, ah. I would feel better if I could keep an eye on you. Just until this is over. For good.”

Derek stays silent, watching Stiles carefully and calculatingly. There's a flush dusting over Stiles' cheeks, painting them a pretty pink. He looks both genuine and pleading, and Derek isn't sure what to do with... any of this.

He feels oddly warm, oddly safe, with Stiles here and, truth to be told, he wouldn't mind if Stiles stayed for a little while. He isn't a big fan of having him as some kind of bodyguard though, but Stiles did say it was for his own benefit as much as Derek's.

Still, Derek has never been good at letting himself have and take.

“You're just trying to get more free food, aren't you?” he asks and quirks a brow.

“Duh,” Stiles says and snorts. “I thought I made it clear that I wanna eat your cooking and baking for the rest of my life.”

“Didn't realize you were desperate enough for that to sleep on my shitty couch.”

“I've sat on your couch, dude. My butt has never been more comfortable, I think I'll be fine.”

Derek rolls his eyes and smiles a little, although it fades quickly after. He says nothing and returns his gaze to the dark and starry sky above them. He doesn't know what to say, to be honest. His heart is doing funny things in his chest and his brain is yelling at him to push Stiles away and get him out of his life before it's too late.

He doesn't know which to listen to, at this point.

“You're hesitating,” Stiles observes out loud.

Derek shrugs a shoulder and lifts the cup of hot chocolate to his lips, taking a sip so he has an excuse not to say anything for a bit.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Would you be more willing to say yes and let me stay if I told you it'd be mostly for my own benefit? I mean, if I stay here, I'd know for sure that you're okay and safe, and it'd help me sleep, eat, all that good stuff. I'd get to pet your dog whenever I want to and eat your food and watch you do all the hard work while I take a well deserved break.”

Derek huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head. “You're an idiot,” he says, fondly.

“Is that a yes?” Stiles asks and smiles broadly at him.

Derek turns to him and looks at him for a long moment. Stiles bats his lashes at him, pleading and begging. Derek smiles, ignores his heart doing somersaults, and sighs exasperatedly.

“Yeah,” he says. “You can stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	5. Chapter 5

The couch becomes a makeshift bed. Derek grabs a couple of pillows that he finds in the linen closet in his room, some blankets too that look warm enough so that Stiles won't freeze during the night. They're not the most fashionable, especially not when put on the couch, but it'll work.

Stiles doesn't seem to care that it doesn't look pretty or perfect, anyway.

“I'm only gonna be sleeping on here,” he reminds him. “Not take pictures of it for a furniture catalog or something. It doesn't matter if it doesn't look good, relax.”

Derek rolls his eyes but makes no further comment and lets Stiles get himself settled in in the living room. It doesn't take him long and before Derek knows it, they're saying goodnight to each other and he's heading up the stairs, trying and failing to bite back a yawn. Randy hobbles after him, yawning as well.

As he walks down the hall toward his own room, he passes by Isaac's. The door is closed but Derek can see the light from under the sliver of space between the floor and the door. He knocks once in warning before he opens the door and peeks his head inside.

Isaac is sitting on the floor, eyes focused on the television screen in front of him and thumbs moving rapidly over the controller in his hands. He's playing a game that Derek can never remember the name of. It's a one word title, that much he knows, and it takes place in space. Sometimes. He thinks.

“Isaac,” he says and gives Isaac a look when he glances his way. “Go to bed.”

Isaac stares at him for a moment, then he looks back at the screen and says, “Okay, dad.”

“I'm gonna take your game away from you,” Derek threatens.

“Sure thing, dad.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, dad.”

With a groan, Derek steps back out into the hall and closes the door after him. He bites back the smile that tugs at his lips when he hears Isaac chuckle on the other side of the door. Shaking his head, he pats his thigh to get Randy's attention and walks into his own room, Randy following him.

He's tired. More than tired, actually. He's exhausted to the bone, so exhausted that he can barely keep himself awake enough to get out of his clothes, brush his teeth, put his hair into a tight braid to keep it from tangling over night, and check his phone.

He doesn't bother with the latter. Why would he? Anyone who could have tried to reach him are either in this house or on the other side of the world where it's already getting close to morning anyway.

He doesn't think about it. The second his head hits the pillow and Randy curls up by his feet, Derek falls asleep. It's a blessing, considering it usually takes him hours to fall asleep, and Derek embraces it with open arms.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Despite the fact that he was exhausted beyond reason, Derek still wakes up early. Laughably early, even. The sun isn't even all the way up yet when he opens his eyes next, the room still dark with only a sliver of light coming in from the sun rising slowly beyond the horizon.

He has slept maybe five hours, he guesses. Six at most. He closes his eyes again, takes in a deep breath, and tries his hardest to fall asleep again.

He doesn't, although he only tries for five minutes before he gives up and decides to just start the day. He doesn't feel that exhausted anyway. Tired, sure, but when doesn't he feel tired? He's always tired and at least he got a few hours of sleep with no nightmares. No dreams, even. None that he can remember, at least, which he takes as another blessing handed to him on a silver platter.

Derek sits up and stretches until there's a satisfying _pop_ , then he yawns and scratches at the side of his head, messing up his braid more than it already is. At his movements, Randy stirs awake too and lifts his head, looking at him. He doesn't look quite awake yet.

“Come on, Randy,” Derek says and gets out of bed. “Let's go for a walk.”

The word has barely left his mouth before Randy is suddenly much more awake. He hops off the bed and somehow manages to not fall over himself as he starts bouncing excitedly around the room, tail wagging wildly behind him and tongue lolling out of his mouth while his ears tip forward.

After getting dressed and fixing his hair into a sloppy bun, Derek leaves his room as quietly as possible. The house is quiet, everyone else still fast asleep. The door to the guest room is closed as is Isaac's door and, when Derek pauses outside both doors, the rooms inside are silent.

He has half a mind to poke his head into the guest room to see if Cora is actually still there, but he quickly changes his mind and doesn't.

He heads downstairs, doing his best to be quiet but Randy is excited and isn't being much of a help with that. He quickly goes into the kitchen for a glass of water before he continues toward the front door and–

Derek pauses when he makes it to the living room. There's a soft snore coming from the couch and there's both a foot and an arm sticking out from the blanket that appears to have been slowly making its way to the floor over night. What little of the blanket is still draped over the couch is rising and falling in a slow, deep, rhythmic breathing.

Stiles has his face pressed against the pillow, half hidden and his hair a wild mess. His mouth hangs open, lips a bit chapped but still as pink and kissable as ever. His one brow twitches a little minutely, as do his fingers. Behind his eyelids, his eyes flicker.

It feels odd, looking at Stiles like this. It reminds Derek of the thousands of sleepovers that they had when they were kids, most of which had Derek waking Stiles up by poking at the ticklish spot he knows is right under Stiles' rib cage on the right side.

But that was when they were kids. They're not kids anymore, Stiles is a guest – a goddamn _bodyguard_ – in his house, and Derek has other things to do than resort to something as childish as waking up his childhood best friend with tickles. He's an adult, he reminds himself as he walks through the house and to the front door where Randy is waiting for him.

Derek puts on his boots and his jacket and unlocks and opens the door, letting Randy run outside to take a morning piss. He grabs his keys, puts in the earbuds after connecting them to his phone and pulling up a playlist, and then he heads out. He gets a leash on Randy before the two of them start their walk in the cold, late spring morning weather.

They walk for a while, through the forest nearby and to the other side where there's a big field. Here, Derek lets Randy off his leash and lets him run around with the few other dogs that are out this early.

Derek doesn't talk to his fellow dog owners and they don't try to talk to him. He's lived in the area for long enough to know which people to avoid and while their dogs may play well together, it doesn't mean they have to.

They stay out for a long time, long enough for the sun to have fully risen by the time Derek whistles for Randy's attention and starts heading back toward the house, Randy following him obediently and getting treats along the way. The extra exercise is good for Randy, but they both need to get some proper food sooner or later.

By the time they make it back inside the house, the house sounds much more alive. There are voices coming from the kitchen along with a distant sizzling. When Derek lets Randy off his leash to let him run to his bowl of water in the kitchen, he hears Stiles says, “Hey, Randy. Did you lose your dad on the way?”

In the kitchen, after Derek has gotten out of his outerwear and follows Randy and the smell of food, Cora and Isaac are sitting by the table, both with a handful of cards in hand and the rest of the deck between them. A cup of coffee is steaming next to Cora's elbow while a glass of juice is between Isaac's.

Stiles is standing by the stove, a hand on his hip and the other wrapped loosely around a spatula. He's making breakfast, by the looks of it, and for some reason that is what makes Derek halt in the doorway.

Stiles turns to him and smiles. He's still in the clothes that he slept in but he looks a lot more put together than he had when Derek saw him sound asleep on the couch earlier. Which isn't surprising, considering it's at least two hours later.

“Morning, Derek,” Stiles says. “How do you take your eggs?”

Derek opens his mouth, means to say something, _anything_ , but no words come out.

“He likes them over easy,” Cora says, saving him.

“Nice, me too,” Stiles says, then points at the coffee machine. “There's coffee, if you want some.”

“Thanks,” Derek says, finally finding his voice.

He doesn't go for the coffee machine, though. Instead he goes to give Randy his breakfast before he joins Cora and Isaac at the table, silently declining the offer to join their card game in favor of quietly and subtly watching Stiles, observing him.

There's something so odd and disturbingly peaceful about this picture. For the past several years, Derek has always been the one to make breakfast, every single morning. He's grown used to it, likes cooking because, for him, it's a calming and comforting thing but, most importantly, it reminds him of his mom.

Watching Stiles cook doesn't remind him of his mom. The smell isn't the same, the way he moves isn't the same. Derek's mom used to hum quietly to herself while she cooked, Stiles is silent with a deeply concentrated look on his face and his tongue poking out from the corner of his lips.

It doesn't remind Derek of his mom, doesn't bring him back to that time. But it does make him feel warm and he's not sure what to make of that or how he's supposed to deal with that.

Stiles looks at him over his shoulder and smiles. Derek hesitates for a second before he smiles back.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

“I like Derek's breakfast better,” Isaac mutters, poking at the scrambled eggs on his plate.

“Then stop eating mine, stupid,” Stiles says around a mouthful.

Isaac looks at him for a long moment, expression blank.

“It's free food,” he says and continues eating.

Stiles makes a face at him.

Derek ducks his head and hides his smile behind the rim of his cup of coffee.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

A few days pass by uneventfully.

Derek works as much as he usually does, spending every hour the sun is out taking care of his farm and working himself into exhaustion, even when his body screams at him to take a break and get some much needed rest. He doesn't listen, doesn't want to. He may have stopped running from Kate but he hasn't stopped running from everything else.

Now that half the people he uses his phone for (Cora and Stiles) are under the same roof as him and no more than a few minutes away at most, Derek lets his phone stay in his room all day. He doesn't check it, not until the day is over and he's back in bed.

He's avoiding it and he knows it. He is avoiding all the missed emails from the morgue reminding him of the funeral arrangements that he still hasn't taken the time to think about, avoiding all the missed calls from Deaton asking about the same thing.

It's a shitty thing to do but he can't deal with any of that. Not now, not yet.

Isaac continues to be himself; focusing on his homework and online classes, playing video games, eating Derek out of the house, playing with Randy, being a teenager. He doesn't change much, not even with two extra people in the house who are practically strangers to him.

Derek doesn't say it but he's proud of him.

Despite being there and temporarily living under the same roof, Cora doesn't change either. She continues to avoid him, spending most hours of the day in the guest room or on the living room couch with headphones on that clearly say _don't talk to me_.

Occasionally, she goes for a run and is gone for hours. She is only really reachable during dinner and breakfast and even then, she doesn't talk much.

Normally, having his own sister avoid him as much as Cora does is manageable. It's something Derek has gotten used to and has learned to be fine with because he has no other choice. And sure, it has always hurt, always cut him deep, but he's always been able to ignore that or tell himself that she's just busy, even when he knows she's not.

But now that she is physically there to not look at him or respond when he talks to her, well... somehow it hurts more and it hurts bad. It's a work in progress, he keeps telling himself when Cora turns away from him, but there isn't much of him that actually believes that. One day, maybe.

Stiles is the only thing very much not normal in the house. It's a good change. He brings a kind of life into the house – and into Derek's life – that hasn't been present in ages; something bright and joyful and _alive_.

Stiles doesn't actually do all that much but he's a constant presence, always hovering nearby and not being subtle in any way about it. He's on his phone a lot, either on a call that he takes in a hushed voice, or tapping furiously on the screen. Whenever he isn't, he likes to complain about being bored.

“You're the one who requested time off,” Derek reminds him more times than he can count.

“Yeah, but it's boring,” Stiles whines back every time.

And every time, Derek rolls his eyes and shakes his head in a way he pretends isn't fond.

All things considered, everything is fairly normal and okay, if you ignore all the bad things looming over them like stormy clouds in the distant sky, warning for trouble and danger in the form of a certain serial killer and all the broken pieces between them.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek carefully takes step by step down the ladder inside the barn after carrying up a full and heavy box of freshly harvested potatoes, storing them on the second floor of the place along with the rest of the crops waiting to be dealt with.

When his booted feet find the ground again, he lets out a tired sigh and dusts his hands off on the thighs of his already dirty jeans. They don't get clean from it but that doesn't stop him from reaching up and redoing his hair in a bun, the locks of hair falling in his face toeing the line of annoying now.

“For a barn, this place is surprisingly clean,” a familiar voice says nearby.

Fingers still in his hair, Derek turns toward the entrance of the barn and smiles when he sees Erica standing there, arms crossed and a returning smile on her lips the second their eyes meet.

“What are you doing here?” he asks and walks over toward her, hands dropping.

Erica shrugs and says, “We decided to come home early.”

“Boyd here too?” Derek asks and holds out his arms to hug her, only stop when Erica holds up a hand and scrunches her nose at him.

“No offense,” she says, “but I'm assuming you've been farming all day because you're really dirty, so I'll take a rain check on that hug, thank you.”

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes but stays back anyway.

“And yes, Boyd is here too,” Erica says. “He's inside, saying hi to the others. Including this Stiles that you failed to mention is cute.”

Derek gives her a warning look. “Don't do that,” he says.

“Do what?” Erica asks. “I just said he's cute.”

“You were implying.”

“Implying what?”

“You know what.”

“I wasn't implying anything. Are you sure you didn't just want me to imply whatever it is you think I was implying?”

Derek narrows his eyes at her. “Go back to traveling the world, Erica.”

“Nah,” Erica says and smiles at him.

Derek glares at her for a moment, then he huffs and walks around her to leave the barn. She follows him, of course, laughing and catching up to him easily because he isn't exactly trying to outrun her. He is, however, trying to fight the smile that tugs at his lips. He manages but only barely.

The front door is wide open when they make it back to the house. Familiar voices carry through the hall from the living room, the sound of Randy's paws clacking around on the wooden floor along with them.

Boyd is tossing a ball to Randy who doesn't catch it but runs after it when Derek walks in with Erica in tow. Their eyes meet, Boyd smiles at him and opens his arms, and Derek only hesitates for a second before he walks over and lets himself get pulled into a brief but tight hug.

They didn't use to hug much, or touch at all. None of them did, not even Erica who now likes to give both Derek and Isaac casual touches and who is rarely seen without a hand somewhere on Boyd. They've gotten better at it, the four of them.

“You smell like shit,” Boyd says as they part and scrunches his nose.

Derek rolls his eyes.

“That's exactly why I didn't hug him,” Erica says. “Because I'm smart and took a rain check on it.”

“I'm being bullied in my own house,” Derek mutters and briefly looks heavenward.

“To be fair,” Stiles says from where he's sitting on the couch, “you have been on the farm all day. It would be weird if you didn't smell like shit.”

Derek looks at him. “Thanks,” he deadpans.

“Go take a shower,” Erica says and shoves at his shoulder. “We'll raid your fridge in the meantime.”

Derek makes his shower quick, or as quick as a shower can be with as much hair as he has to take care of. He gets into some clean clothes when he's dried off, quickly puts his hair into a bun so the back of his shirt won't get wet, and combs through his beard before he leaves the room and goes back downstairs to join the others.

When he gets back to living room, Cora and Isaac have joined them as well. The bedding on the couch where Stiles has been sleeping the past few nights has been shoved into a pile on the armchair in the corner and Stiles, Cora, and Isaac are spread out on the couch with Randy wiggling around in Isaac's lap, biting at the toy that Isaac is holding.

Erica and Boyd are sitting on the two person couch next to them, Erica's feet tugged up into Boyd's lap and Boyd with an arm swung over the back behind her. The only available spot is next to them, so Derek walks over and sits himself down there.

Erica wasn't kidding when she said she was going to raid his fridge, as it turns out. In the time that Derek was in the shower to get cleaned up, she has found the store bought cookies that Isaac insisted on getting the last time they went grocery shopping. She has gotten a can of fruit lemonade too, along with a couple of beers that she, Stiles, and Cora are now nursing.

Derek sends her a look. Erica responds with a smile and hands him a glass that he takes with a roll of his eyes.

“These are good,” Stiles says as he bites into a cookie. “But I like yours better.”

Derek ignores the heat in his face when Stiles winks at him. He says, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Or everywhere,” Erica mutters, low enough for Stiles not to hear it but loud enough for Derek to.

Derek sends her a warning glare while Stiles is, fortunately, oblivious.

They talk for hours. Mostly, it's Erica and Boyd telling stories about the things they experienced during their travels to see as much as of the world as they can manage and afford. There's a few pictures, some laughs, and questions asked with each tale.

It's nice, Derek thinks, to have every person he cares deeply about in the same room. It makes it easier to forget about the worry that he feels for every one of them, knowing full well that any of them could get killed the moment they leave here.

Derek finds his eyes wandering over to his sister every other minute, like he needs to check to see if she's really there and not just a figment of his imagination or hopeful thinking. But she is there and, when she does meet his eye, she smiles. It's a little stiff, a little tight, but he'll take whatever he can get.

They're not okay, might never be, but they can work on it. Once this is all over and neither of them have to fear for their lives anytime they step foot outside, they can work on it. And Derek intends to make up for all the pain he has caused her.

The pleasant conversation comes to an abrupt end when there's a phone ringing loudly from the coffee table. Derek doesn't even need to look to know whose it is. He has gotten familiar with that ringtone over the past few days, he practically knows it by heart now.

“Shit,” Stiles curses quietly and grabs his phone.

His face falls, joyful and bright becoming serious and hard. He stands and heads out of the living room with a quick, “Gotta take this,” thrown over his shoulder, and then he's gone.

Derek looks after him, worried and maybe a little scared. He tries to strain his ears to catch anything of what Stiles is saying but he can't hear him. He's too far away and Stiles is always careful to keep his phone calls hushed. He can't even hear a muttering voice, even though the people around him are as quiet as mice at the moment.

When he looks away from the door leading into the hall, he finds Erica watching him. He meets her gaze and lifts a brow in a silent question.

“I thought you said he wasn't on a case right now,” Erica says. “Or that he took himself off _the_ case.”

“He did,” Derek says. “Doesn't mean he isn't helping the agent who is on the case, anyway.”

“Are they getting closer to catching her?” Boyd asks.

Derek pauses. He glances over at Cora who is looking back at him, brows furrowed and eyes full of worry. She's scared, he can tell she is, and he would be lying if he said he isn't too. He is. He's fucking terrified, knowing that Kate is still out there, walking free and planning something.

“I don't know,” he says quietly.

It's the not knowing that makes it so terrifying.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Erica and Boyd stay for dinner as well. They can't stay the night because Cora is currently staying in the guest room and Stiles is sleeping on one of the couches, so they don't even though they want to. They do, however, stay until the moon is high on the dark sky and only leave when Derek kicks them out because he knows that if they stay any longer, Boyd is gonna be too tired to drive.

“We'll come back tomorrow,” Erica says, arms tight around Derek.

“I know you will,” Derek says and squeezes her once before letting her go.

“Don't sound so grumpy about it,” Erica says and opens the car door. “We all know you care, you can drop the act.”

“Shut up,” Derek says, “and go home.”

Erica sticks her tongue out at him but gets in the car anyway. From the driver's seat, Boyd gives Derek a quick salute that Derek returns with a small smile.

“Drive safe,” he says as they start to back out.

“See you tomorrow, Derek!” Erica calls out of her rolled down window.

“And drop the act!” Boyd calls out after her.

Derek shakes his head at them but stays until their car is out of sight because yeah, he does care.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Stiles is on his phone and laptop a lot, that is nothing new. But after nearly a week, a lot becomes constantly and Stiles stops taking care of himself, which is painfully, and maybe a little pathetically, obvious to everyone in the house.

Stiles hasn't shaved his face since before he came here and it's starting to show in patchy, spotty places that makes the growing stubble look a little too on the side of pubescent for his age. It doesn't look great, barely even good, and he keeps scratching at his jaw, cheeks, and chin but otherwise he doesn't seem to notice it.

He stops eating too, at least consistently. He eats breakfast and dinner because Derek makes both every morning and evening, so food is always there and prepared for him. But throughout the day, he doesn't get anything.

Derek makes sure to leave a few snacks nearby and a tall glass of water for him whenever he takes a brief break from working on the farm, just so Stiles has _something_ and doesn't wither away while he's on “vacation”.

At least Stiles has been keeping up with showering and the basic hygiene to stay clean, which everyone, including Derek, appreciates.

Stiles also hasn't been outside for the past three days, which is the problem that Derek decides to fix first because it seems like the easiest and most doable, even if he does end up having to force Stiles away from his electronics and the work he isn't supposed to be doing in the first place.

Derek has just finished cleaning up after himself in the kitchen, a basket of freshly harvested and washed vegetables on the table that he will put away later. Now though, he has other business to attend to; getting Stiles out.

He walks into the living room and finds Stiles sitting on the couch, laptop open in front of him and fingers tapping away furious while his eyes flicker over the bright screen. He's chewing absently on his bottom lip, worrying it into a red shade instead of the usual pink.

“Stiles,” Derek says and stops next to him, arms crossed. “Take a walk with me.”

Stiles hums and, without looking up, he says, “Maybe later.”

“That wasn't a suggestion,” Derek says.

He doesn't give him a warning. He hooks a hand under Stiles' arm and pulls him up and away from the laptop at the same time. Stiles is surprisingly heavy but not so heavy that Derek struggles to get him up.

“Wha– Hey!” Stiles exclaims and flails.

When he moves away and reaches for his laptop again, Derek hooks an arm around his waist and starts dragging him away with him as he heads out of the living room. Stiles fights him, complains loudly, and even shoves a hand in his face and pulls a little at the loose braid his hair is in in an attempt to get Derek to let him go.

It doesn't work. Derek doesn't let go nor does he stop dragging him. He's relentless and, eventually, Stiles stops fighting and gives up with a loud and childish groan followed by a defeated, “Fine!”

Derek smiles at him and pats his head.

“Good boy,” he says teasingly.

“I hate you,” Stiles grumbles but he steps into his shoes anyway.

Randy is ecstatic to go on another walk already. If it wasn't for the leash attached to his collar that Derek holds in a tight grip, he would have run off down the street the second the door opens and would probably be frolicking through the grassy field on the other side of the forest already. But Derek keeps a firm hold on him and manages to get him to behave with a bit of bribing with treats.

It takes them a good twenty minutes to make it to the forest. Stiles only complains for half of that time which is surprising considering how much he tried to get out of going out. But then Derek scoops up a shit that Randy stopped to take, tries to make Stiles carry the bag to the next trashcan, and suddenly Stiles is enjoying himself by, of course, being annoying.

Derek doesn't mind but Stiles doesn't need to know that.

Walking through the forest is much more of an adventure. Derek has to reach out and grab onto Stiles to keep him from tripping over branches sticking out of the ground more times than he should.

“You're a goddamn special agent,” Derek says after the third time. “Act like one.”

“And miss out on being saved by you?” Stiles scoffs. “I don't think so, big guy.”

Derek rolls his eyes, blushes slightly, and says nothing more about it.

When they make it through the forest to the grassy field on the other side, Derek doesn't hesitate to get Randy off his leash and let him run loose. Aside from a group of teenagers playing frisbee in the distance, the field is empty.

Randy runs around for a while, sniffs at a bush and pees against a tree and rolls around in something that apparently smells good, before he comes running back over to them and stands in front of Derek, ears perked and tail wagging wildly.

Derek lifts the ball that he brought with them and smiles when Randy follows it intently with his eyes. He moves it from side to side a couple of times, then he pulls his arm back and throws it as far as he can. Randy takes off after it as fast as his three legs can carry him.

Next to him, Stiles whistles appreciatively.

“That is one fast, three legged dog,” he says.

Derek huffs out a chuckle and says, “With a lot of energy, comes a lot of speed.”

“Doesn't it get tiring?” Stiles asks after a beat. “I mean, I've been here for a week and he never seems to slow the fuck down. Like, ever. That dog has more energy than I did when I was a hyperactive spas of a kid.”

“At first, maybe,” Derek says. “It took some getting used to. Believe it or not, he was a lot worse when he was a pup.”

“Oh, I believe that. He's, what? Three now?”

“Four.”

“Right, and he's still that energetic.” Stiles whistles again, low this time. “That takes some serious dedication, man.”

Derek looks from Stiles to Randy who is running through the grassy field back toward them, ball in his mouth and tail still going. He smiles and bends down a little, holding his hand out and grabbing onto the now wet with saliva ball when Randy is close enough.

It's true, though. Having a dog like Randy has taken a lot of getting used to and a mountain of dedication, and then some. He needs a lot ( _a lot_ ) of exercise throughout the day, otherwise he'll be up all night. When he gets bored, he will easily start chewing on any– and everything that he can get his teeth into. The amount of things that have been destroyed ever since Derek got him is ridiculous, honestly.

But for all the trouble and occasional annoyance, Randy has been a good dog and Derek doesn't regret getting him for a single second.

“He's worth it,” Derek says and smiles down at Randy who wags his tail in response.

Eventually, Randy stops playing tug-of-war with Derek. He lets go of the ball and steps back, waiting for it to be thrown again. Derek throws it and gets it back once more before he hands it to Stiles and raises his brows in a silent question.

Stiles looks from the ball to him a couple of times, before he grins widely and takes it, only to make a face at the slobber covering it. Derek chuckles quietly at him but tries to bite it back when Stiles turns a stink eye at him. Judging by the nudge he gets to his ribs, he does a poor job at hiding it.

Stiles throws the ball and Randy sprints after it. When he returns with it in his mouth, he doesn't let go and only tugs when Stiles tries to get it back from him. Stiles clearly wasn't expecting it because he stumbles a little and exclaims loudly.

“Oh, so that's how you wanna play it, huh?” he says to Randy who growls playfully and tugs again.

This time, Stiles is expecting it and tugs back.

They play for a while, tugging back and forth until Randy gets bored of it and lets go. He jumps back and, with his tongue lolling out of his opened mouth, he starts running after the ball the second Stiles throws it far into the field.

Randy jumps and catches it mid air which is nothing new to Derek, it happens occasionally. But it is new to Stiles who immediately throws both arms up in celebration and cheers loudly, as if Randy catching the ball mid air is some kind of amazing achievement.

Derek starts shaking his head at him, just a little, but he stops and freezes the moment Stiles turns to him with a wide and toothy smile, beaming so brightly that he makes everything else look dull in comparison.

Derek's heart does a somersault in his chest. The fluttering feeling doesn't end for hours.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

“Hey, Derek.”

Derek makes it to the end of the sentence, then he lowers the book from in front of his face and looks over at Stiles who is leaning casually against the frame of the door to his room. He's smoothing a hand over his jaw, scratching at the stubble that is getting more and more noticeable with each day.

“Can I borrow your razor?” Stiles asks.

Derek lifts a brow and asks, “Do I look like I own one?”

“Yes,” Stiles answers immediately. “You can't get that perfect beard shape or that little of a neck beard without owning some form of shaving tool. You can't fool me. I'm a special agent, I observe for a living.”

“Maybe it's natural,” Derek says and lifts his book again, but he doesn't continue reading.

“Dude, come on,” Stiles says and steps inside. “Do you think I'm gonna break your razor or what?”

“No.”

“Then why won't you let me borrow it?”

Derek glances at Stiles, stares at him for a minute. “Bathroom sink,” he says.

“You're the best friend a guy could ask for,” Stiles says and holds out his fist. “Pound it.”

Derek stares at his fist, then slowly lifts his gaze to give Stiles a deadpan look. Stiles grins at him, wiggles his brows, and shakes his fist a little, moving closer and closer with every little movement.

“I'm not doing that,” Derek says and looks back at his book.

“Come on. Just a little bit?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please, with cherries on top?”

Derek sighs exasperatedly and looks heavenward. Shaking his head, he lets go of the book with one hand and reaches out to wrap it around Stiles' closed fist to shake it. He bites back the grin that pulls at his lips when Stiles makes a face at him.

“Oh my God,” Stiles guffaws, pulling his hand back. “I can't believe you just did that, you nerd.”

“Shave your face,” Derek says.

“Fine,” Stiles says and sticks his tongue out at him. “Asshole.”

“Don't make me punch you.”

“You wouldn't do that, you love me too much.”

Derek glares at him over the top of his book.

Stiles holds up his hands and hurries toward the bathroom. “I'm going, bye!” he yells over his shoulder, then disappears behind the now closed door.

Derek shakes his head a little and goes back to reading his book. Or, he tries to. He finds it hard to concentrate on the words when he can hear the distant sound of water running and the low buzz of an electric razor, along with a quiet humming.

He's been reading and rereading the same few sentences at least fifty times when the sounds stop one by one; first the humming, then the electric buzz, then the water. A couple of minutes pass, then the bathroom door opens and Stiles steps out, smiling and touching his clean shaven face.

“Dude, my face is like a baby's butt again,” he says and heads over to him. “Feel it.”

Derek glances at him and stares silently for a second. The pubescent scruff that had been growing on Stiles' face in spots is now gone and his face is back to looking smooth and soft, moles decorating his pale skin.

Derek blinks, then looks back at his book to distract himself.

“No,” he says.

“I know you wanna,” Stiles says and leans toward him, rubbing at his cheeks like he's trying to make a point.

“I don't,” Derek lies and uses the book as a barrier between them.

Stiles is having none of that, though. He grabs one of Derek's hands, pries it off the book, and shoves it onto his own face before Derek can do so much as blink or even think about fighting it. Derek tries to pull it away again but Stiles puts his own hand on top of his and keeps it right there on his face, cupping his cheek.

Derek tries really hard not to think about it, any of it. He tries really hard not to think about the fact that he's touching Stiles like this or the fact that they're really close, Stiles looming over him in a way that isn't threatening at all because it's _Stiles_ and Derek trusts him.

He tries but the skin under his palm his soft and smooth, and his thumb moves on its own, stroking just a little before he can tell himself not to. But he does it again anyway because he can't seem to stop, especially not when he hears the little stuttering breath that comes from Stiles at the touch.

Derek drags his eyes away from his own fingers to meet Stiles', except Stiles isn't looking back at him, at least not at his eyes. He's looking further down and the second Derek realizes where he's looking, his face heats up and he freezes.

Stiles is staring at his lips, shamelessly.

With a hand on his face, Derek could easily drag him down and kiss him. A part of him actually wants to do that and suddenly that fluttery somersault that his heart keeps doing makes so much sense.

But instead of doing that, he panics.

“You missed a spot,” he croaks out.

“What?”

Stiles blinks once, then a few more as his eyes widen rapidly. He visibly comes back to reality and straightens up, face turning red instantly. Derek's hand slips from his face, falling into his lap where his forgotten book has fallen as well.

“Right,” Stiles says and clears his throat. “I'm gonna– I'll just– Fix that. Yep. Okay.”

He spins around and hurries back to the bathroom, nearly tripping over his own feet on the way. The door closes, maybe a little rougher than necessary, and Derek is left alone again.

He lets out a heavy breath and falls back against the headboard of his bed. His heart is going crazy in his chest and his face feels much, much warmer than usual. His ears are probably bright red, matching Stiles' face, but, thankfully, his hair is covering it so no one but him has to know about it.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

They don't talk about it but Derek doesn't stop thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	6. Chapter 6

Another week passes by, still uneventful.

Erica and Boyd come by every other day, sometimes for only a few hours, sometimes for the whole day, sometimes only one of them stays. Erica can't drive because of her epilepsy so sometimes Boyd will drop her off and she'll hang around for a few hours until either Boyd is free to pick her up again or Derek takes her home.

Sometimes only Boyd shows up, either to help Derek out where he can or hang out with Isaac or play with Randy, although mostly he shows up to eat Derek out of the house because, somehow, Boyd has developed a sixth sense and knows when Derek has had another baking frenzy that resulted in too much.

Derek suspects Isaac is a spy and lets him know because that seems most likely, but he has no proof.

Cora starts coming out of the guest room more and it starts to feel like she's actually there instead of miles and miles away. She is still distant but she's talking to Derek now instead of completely shutting him out, which he thanks whoever will listen for.

Stiles is still Stiles, but ever since the shaving incident last week, Derek has become hyper aware of everything concerning him. He is too aware of the way his heart starts beating and his face starts heating whenever Stiles gets a little too close or whenever he touches him, hands always lingering for a second too long.

Derek is too aware of how often his thoughts drift to Stiles, even when Stiles is in the damn room and talking to him. He finds himself daydreaming about him more often than he wants to admit, not that he would ever admit it in the first place.

He is too aware of his feelings for Stiles and it terrifies him. He tries his hardest to internalize it, tries to keep it a secret, from Stiles especially, but apparently he does a terrible job at it because Erica catches on and confronts him about it while they're making dinner one evening.

Stiles is upstairs with Isaac, playing video games if the occasional cheers of celebration and shouts of frustration are anything to go by. Boyd and Cora are in the living room, playing with Randy to burn some of his energy off even though he's been on three separate walks today already.

“What's going on with you?” Erica asks apropos of nothing, eyeing him as she cuts up vegetables.

“What do you mean?” Derek asks without looking up from the meat he's slicing into.

“You know what I mean,” Erica says. “You've been acting weird lately. What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Derek says. In a moment of panicked desperation, he tries to change the subject. “How's the house hunting going?”

“Don't change the subject.”

He sighs and hangs his head, shoulders slumping as he closes his eyes. He doesn't want to talk or even think about this. Ever since he found out that he might possibly, most definitely like Stiles in a way that is nowhere near platonic anymore, he's been terrified for several reasons, reasons that he doesn't want to talk about.

Erica may be his best friend aside from Stiles, the person he can tell anything to, but that doesn't change anything. Not with this. Although, knowing her, she is going to make him talk about it. It makes him want to leave the kitchen and avoid her until she forgets.

He doesn't though, knows she won't let him even if he tried.

“I don't want to talk about it,” he says.

“Is it about Stiles?” Erica asks. “You've been acting extra weird around him, don't think I haven't noticed.”

“So what if it is?” Derek asks, tightening his grip around the knife. “It doesn't mean anything.”

“Stop it, Derek,” she says and throws a piece of carrot at him. “Open up and talk to me.”

Derek hesitates for a long moment, then he very quietly says, “I think I love him.”

Saying the words out loud makes his heart do somersault after somersault, pounding hard in his chest.

Erica doesn't say anything. She is uncharacteristically quiet, especially considering the confession. It worries Derek a little, so he chances a glance over at her, only to find her smiling toothily back at him, practically beaming.

He rolls his eyes and turns his back to her.

“I knew it,” Erica says. “I knew there was something more than platonic between you two.”

“It's not,” Derek starts but cuts himself off with a groan. “It was never like that. We were way too young and now, well... he doesn't feel the same.”

“Oh, please,” Erica scoffs. “I've seen the way he looks at you. If he doesn't feel the same, then I'm secretly a space ninja stuck on Earth.”

Derek blinks, then slowly turns to look at her questioningly.

Erica shrugs a shoulder and asks, “What?”

“You're weird,” Derek says.

“You love me for it.”

Derek rolls his eyes and turns back around, hiding the small but fond smile on his lips. He stays silent for a minute, focusing on the dinner. Erica doesn't say anything either, clearly waiting for him to continue.

“Even if he does feel the same,” Derek says, “it doesn't matter. He deserves better than me.”

“Hey, watch it,” Erica says. “That's my best friend you're talking about.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

“Erica.”

“No,” she says firmly. “All the crap you've gone through and everything you're still going through? None of it makes you any less worthy of love. If you think that for even a second, then I have failed you as a best friend.”

“Erica–”

“Remember when Boyd and I were just friends,” Erica cuts him off with, “and I was worried that I would never be good enough for him and that I would be nothing but a burden to him because of my epilepsy? Remember what you told me, then?”

Derek sighs. “Yes, but–”

“What did you tell me, Derek?” she asks, interrupting him again.

Derek stays silent, eyes downcast.

“Let me remind you,” Erica continues. “You said that if he wasn't willing to make my normal his normal, then he wasn't worth it. You said that I am not a burden just because I deal with something not everyone does. You said that I'm still worthy of love and happiness, no matter what. So why would it be any different when it's you?”

“It is different,” Derek argues.

“Bullshit.”

“Erica, I– Kate is still out there.”

Erica is suddenly next to him. She puts a hand on his bicep and gently pushes until he turns. Derek meets her eyes hesitantly but once there, he doesn't look away even though Erica's gaze is intense and stern.

It briefly reminds him of Laura, that protective big sister vibe even though Erica is younger than him.

“You gotta stop letting her get in the way,” Erica says. “Besides, she won't be out there forever. Probably not for much longer. Stiles is working on it, right?”

“Unofficially,” Derek says. “Another agent is on the case. She's doing most of the work.”

“Is she good?”

Derek shrugs and says, “I don't know but Stiles trusts her.”

“And do you trust Stiles?”

“Yes,” Derek says without thought or hesitation.

“Then trust that they'll catch her,” Erica says. “And stop letting her control your life. You're worth more than that.”

Derek looks at her for a moment, then he smiles softly.

“How did you get so wise?” he asks.

“I had a good teacher,” she says and smiles back.

Neither of them get a chance to say more. One moment Erica is hugging him tightly and the next Cora and Boyd come walking into the kitchen with a panting Randy on their heels, which abruptly stops theirs conversation.

Cora asks when dinner is ready and steals a handful of cut cucumbers, while Boyd pauses in the middle of the kitchen and looks between Derek and Erica with narrowed eyes.

Derek notices and shares a brief look with Erica, silently pleading her not to say anything. Erica smiles at him in reassurance and walks over to kiss Boyd before she drags him back to the cutting board with her, making him help.

Boyd doesn't ask, although he looks like he wants to, and they finish making dinner, calling down the other two to join them once the table is set.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek keeps himself distracted on the farm once again. It has become a habit, hiding out here and tiring himself out so that when he does come back inside, he will be too tired to deal with whatever it is he's hiding from. It's a bad, if not unhealthy, habit but it's his instinct to run, hide, and wait for whatever is making him anxious to pass.

He hides, working until his limbs are too sore to move and eating his lunch in front of the barn rather than on the porch or inside with the others. He plays with Randy and takes an unnecessarily long walk with him twice a day, going right back to work when he comes back and avoiding Erica's knowing gaze.

He works way past dinner time without realizing it. He doesn't even realize how late it is until he looks up and sees that the sun is going down, the moon replacing it on the darkening sky. His stomach rumbles slightly, as if seeing how late it has gotten is a sudden reminder for that too, a reminder that he skipped dinner.

Derek ignores the guilt that decides to creep up on him, guilt that he didn't make dinner like he always does and guilt that he's been avoiding everyone all day long. But he ignores it and decides to finish the work that he still needs to deal with before he goes to face the music inside.

As it turns out, he doesn't get to.

“Knock, knock,” a voice says behind him right as Derek starts putting the tools back in their rightful place in the barn.

Blinking, Derek turns and looks toward the open entrance to the barn. Stiles is standing there, a small and crooked smile on his lips and arms crossed over his chest to close the plaid shirt he's wearing.

Derek's heart flips at the sight of him, something he is well too aware of now that he knows what it means. He forces himself to smile back though, then he turns and continues with what he was doing before.

“Hey,” he greets him.

“So,” Stiles drawls and walks inside, his steps crunchy on the barn floor. “I couldn't help but notice that you skipped dinner. Both making and eating it. I mean, Boyd's food is good and all, but I'm pretty sure you've completely ruined me for any other food than yours.”

“Sorry,” Derek says. “Lost track of time, I guess.”

“It's okay,” Stiles says, then stops next to him. “I'm not here for the food. Well, only partially but the food's more like a nice bonus thing, you know?”

Derek hums noncommittally and says nothing, angling himself away from Stiles a little. His heart is going crazy in his chest and he is too aware of how close Stiles is standing. Part of him wants to lean closer while a different part of him wants to push him away. He does neither, distracting himself by fiddling with the tools hanging on the wall.

“Derek,” Stiles says.

His voice is soft and suddenly there's a hand on Derek's forearm, stilling him.

Derek freezes, stops moving abruptly. He looks down at the hand on his arm. The grip isn't tight, it's gentle and he could easily shake the hand off if he wanted to. He doesn't and lifts his gaze to meet Stiles'.

“You're done for today,” Stiles says.

Derek frowns at him. “I'm not–”

“Dude, I will literally drag you out of here,” Stiles says, cutting him off. “You've been working all day, take a damn break already. We're about to have a movie marathon inside and you will join us, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming with me and handcuff you to the couch. You're coming with me. Got it, big guy?”

Derek stares at him for a long minute, prepared to protest and push him away. But then he notices the look in Stiles' eyes, the _I dare you to challenge me_ look, and he sighs in defeat. He has known that look since he was a kid and he knows that it's useless to fight because Stiles will never back down.

“Fine,” Derek sighs. “Let me just–”

“Nope!” Stiles grabs his wrist and drags him out the barn with him. “You do not get to do anything but come inside, sit your ass down, and not move for the next five hours, minimum.”

Derek rolls his eyes but doesn't fight it.

Stiles doesn't let go of Derek's wrist until they reach the porch. Like so much else, Derek is too aware of the grip. It's strong and warm, Stiles dragging him along like it's nothing. Granted, Derek isn't fighting or struggling and just following along, but his brain still finds it worth noting and filing away for later.

Randy comes rushing over the moment the door opens. He barks, then hobbles around Derek's legs until Derek crouches down and lets him slobber over his face a bit. He stays there for a minute, giving Randy a belly rub when he flops lazily onto his back, but then Stiles gets out of his boots and tells him to come with him.

Derek does, isn't sure he knows how to say no anymore, but he does get out of his own outerwear first, leaving his dirty, mud filled boots by the doormat. Randy follows them eagerly, tail slapping against Derek's leg as they walk.

Everyone has already gathered in the living room when they get there.

Boyd is leaning against the arm of the couch, spread out and looking comfortable. Erica is laying up against him with her head on his chest and her legs taking up most of the space that's left on the couch, her feet in Isaac's lap where he's sitting on the other end.

Isaac doesn't seem bothered by it. Rather, he looks completely at peace there, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Cora is sitting on the armchair, spread out and phone in hand. Her thumb is moving absently over the screen but her eyes flicker up and land on Derek when they walk in. Derek looks back and offers her an uncertain smile, one that she returns with a grimace.

“You stink,” she tells him. “Take a shower.”

Derek rolls his eyes at her, while the smile grows into something fond.

“Nu-uh,” Stiles says and puts his hand on Derek's shoulder, forcefully shoving him onto the other couch. “He is not going anywhere other than this couch cushion for at least five hours.”

Cora makes a face and says, “You can't be serious.”

“Yeah, I kinda agree with her,” Erica says. “No offense, Derek, but you stink.”

“None taken,” Derek says. “I've been working all day, I really should–”

Stiles cuts him off with a sharp shush and gives both him and everyone else, including Randy, a warning look. Somehow, it makes everyone shut up and Randy goes to lay down by Derek's feet.

Derek stares at Stiles for a second, then dips his chin and smiles down at his hands.

“No one is doing anything,” Stiles says and goes over to the television, “but watch this masterpiece of a movie. Quietly. Without complaining or arguing or anything.”

There's a couple snorts, a couple chuckles, but no one says a word.

Stiles puts the movie in, grabs the remote, and sits down next to Derek. He's close, maybe a little too close, and Derek, once again, is too aware of it. Stiles' thigh is right here, pressing up against his own, and he's having a hard time not noticing.

 _A New Hope_ starts and, a few minutes later when Stiles settles back against the couch with a happy smile and a calm falls over the others, Derek decides that this might not have been such a bad idea after all.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

He takes it all back after the first movie.

Luke and Han are rewarded with their medals, the credits start rolling, and Cora decides to break the comfortable silence that has fallen over the living room, even Randy has fallen quiet.

“Okay, first movie is done,” she says. “Derek. Shower time. Go.”

Derek gives her a look but when Stiles only sighs heavily and throws his hands up but doesn't argue, he gets up and goes to do as she asked. Cora yells her thanks after him and Derek raises his hand to flip her off over his shoulder in brotherly instinct, a gesture that gets a snort from Erica and a startled laugh from Stiles.

Derek strips out of his dirty clothes when he makes it to his bedroom, tossing each article carelessly to the laundry basket that is growing larger and larger, then he heads to the bathroom. He means for his shower to be quick but when his body is clean and his hair is wet and clinging to his shoulders, he spaces out.

He's tired, maybe even closer to exhausted. Despite sitting down for nearly three hours already, it doesn't hit him until right then; he's beyond exhausted. He has pushed himself way too far today, his sore body screams at him when he tries to move and finish his shower.

He gets through it though, somehow finding whatever bit of strength he has left. He gets dressed in something clean and comfortable, something he can sleep in because he knows he will most likely end up falling asleep during the movie marathon.

Derek doesn't go right back downstairs, though. No, instead his phone catches his eye, the light blinking with unchecked notifications. He heads over there without thought, picks it up, and unlocks it to check them.

There are a few missed calls and an email, all from Deaton at the morgue. Derek clenches his jaw and clears his call log with only a bit of guilt, then he opens the email after hesitating for a moment.

_Mr. Hale._

_Regarding your decision about the funeral arrangements for–_

Derek closes out of it, stomach flipping upside down and throat closing.

He is beyond exhausted and doesn't have the strength to keep himself together at the moment. It's hard to breathe all of the sudden. His heart is pounding in his chest while his throat closes and dries up, his eyes watering without his permission.

He clenches his jaw, clenches his fists, and closes his eyes tightly in an attempt to stop it.

He hates this, hates feeling so weak and vulnerable. In the back of his mind, he knows that breaking down and crying doesn't make you weak but a voice in his head, one that laughs and sounds an awful lot like Kate, calls him pathetic and it does make him feel weak.

Weak and alone and guilty and so many other things that are always there, but suddenly it becomes incredibly overwhelming and too much for him to handle.

It's his fault.

It's his fault that everyone around him are either dead or in danger. He would take a thousand more years of torture and abuse and pain if he could just have his family back. He would take their place in a heartbeat if he could. He doesn't deserve to be here, not after everything.

It shouldn't be Laura's funeral, it shouldn't have been any of the others' either. It should have been none of them.

Derek lets out a slow, unsteady breath and opens his eyes. Closing them didn't help, the tears are still forming and threatening to fall and roll down his cheeks. He tries to stop them, tries to will them away, but he knows it won't happen.

“Yo, did you get sucked down the drain or something? You're taking–”

Derek freezes at the sound of Stiles' voice coming from the doorway behind him, curses low to himself when Stiles cuts himself off abruptly. He holds his breath, body tense with how hard he's clenching everything in an attempt to push away the breakdown.

It isn't helping but he doesn't want Sties to see him like this. He's not supposed to let this happen, especially not in front of someone. It feels humiliating being seen like this, so vulnerable and weak and on his breaking point.

But he's been keeping it in for so long, it's hard to stop it.

“Derek?” Stiles asks softly, voice full of worry.

Derek swallows thickly. He hesitates for a long minute before he realizes that there's no way out of this.

Slowly, he turns and lifts his gaze from the floor to look at Stiles. Stiles' face falls immediately, and Derek lets out an unsteady breath and hopes that the sob that comes out with it goes unheard. He knows it doesn't but he can't hold it in anymore.

Without taking his eyes off of Derek, Stiles steps into the room and quietly closes the door behind him. He walks over in long strides and then immediately pulls him in for a hug, arms wrapped tight around him and one hand cradling the back of his head. He doesn't seem to care that Derek's hair is still damp from the shower, hanging loose and uncombed.

Derek stops fighting it and lets himself break. He buries his face in Stiles' shoulder, clutches at the back of his shirt when he wraps his arms around him, and starts to cry. The first sob is wet and broken, as are the following several until they just come out on their own, tears falling from his closed eyes and wetting Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles shushes him gently and holds him through it.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

“I was angry, at first,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles shifts next to him, rolling onto his side and propping his head up against his loosely closed fist. Derek doesn't meet his eye, keeps his gaze glued to the ceiling above them and doesn't move from where he's laying on the bed.

It had taken a while for him to stop crying. Apparently, he had really needed to let it out and Stiles had held him through it all. Stiles had guided him to sit down on the bed when Derek could barely stand any longer, and when Derek finally stopped crying, they both laid back.

Derek knows he looks like a mess. Hell, he _feels_ like a mess so he can only imagine that he looks worse. But he's too tired to care, exhausted from a long day of nonstop work and now a breakdown.

They've been left alone, so far. None of the others, not even Boyd or Erica, have come to check on them, which Derek is grateful for. It's one thing to show weakness in front of one person, it's a whole different thing to show it in front of several. He's not sure he's ready for that or if he ever will be.

“At first?” Stiles repeats questioningly, voice soft.

“I ran right into her,” Derek continues, ignoring Stiles. “Kate. After my uncle died and the rest of us split up. And I was angry so I fought her but I also wanted to protect the little bit of family I had left, so I let her use me however she wanted. She– She tortured me, used me, and I thought it was okay because I deserved it. That's what I told myself. The fire was my fault, so why shouldn't I take the torture for my sisters?”

“You know that's not true,” Stiles says.

“No,” Derek says. “I don't. I still think that. The fire– Everything that happened? It's my fault. And now Laura is dead too, all because I didn't stay and let Kate take her anger out on me. I couldn't– I couldn't stay. I kept fighting her and losing every single time, and I finally gave up because she took away my hope. So I ran like a coward and look where that got me. I have to plan another funeral.”

“Hey,” Stiles says and grabs his hand. Derek lets him, squeezes back. “You don't have to think about the funeral right now. Alright? I'll talk to Deaton, have him get off your back a little.”

Derek shakes his head and looks down at where Stiles is holding his hand. He opens his mouth to protest, to tell Stiles that he has been putting off dealing with the funeral stuff for way too long and Laura deserves better than that, but he gets distracted.

Stiles is holding his hand, thumb caressing the back gently. Despite being exhausted and more numb than anything now, Derek is hyper aware of that touch. Kate might have ripped all the hope out of him but Stiles showing up on his front porch and being here, an anchor while he's drifting in sorrow and guilt, and working so hard to catch Kate is giving him a sliver of hope again.

Derek thinks about telling him that but he doesn't and keeps it to himself instead.

“She might come for you too,” he whispers, gripping Stiles' hand tightly.

“Look at me,” Stiles says. This time, his voice isn't soft. It's firm and demanding.

Derek stares down at their hands for another second, then he slowly looks at Stiles. Stiles smiles at him, small and crooked and not nearly kind enough to hide the worry mixed with anger and determination in his eyes.

“I'm a special agent with the FBI,” Stiles says and squeezes his hand. “If she comes for me, I've got years of training and will kick her ass. If I didn't think I could handle her myself, I wouldn't have stayed here alone. I would've gotten you and Cora and everyone else under proper protection. But I know what I'm capable of and she is not coming past me. I won't let her.”

Derek looks at him for a long moment, then he smiles. It's small and barely there but it must be visible enough because Stiles smiles right back and gives his hand a firm, reassuring squeeze.

Derek returns it and lets out a breath.

They lay like that for a while. Derek isn't sure for how long, his concept of time has been thrown off since this morning, but it's long enough that his eyes start to close a little. He's tired and exhausted and comfortable, safe with Stiles watching over him and holding his hand like they're something more than friends. He could fall asleep right here.

He doesn't let himself, fights the sleepiness, because then Stiles speaks.

“You're more than that, you know,” he says in a quiet, soft voice. “You're more than what she did to you.”

The smile on Derek's lips slowly fades, but he doesn't look away nor does he tell Stiles to shut up.

“You're smart,” Stiles continues, a smile on his lips. “So incredibly smart that you make the rest of us look stupid sometimes. And that's saying something, I'm pretty smart myself. Graduated top of my class, baby.”

Derek huffs out a chuckle and ignores the heat in his ears at the endearment.

“You're funny,” Stiles says. “I know you think you aren't but you are. Your humor is dry and I love that. You're caring, so fucking caring about everyone around you. Even the people you don't really know, which is ridiculous. You've been put through hell but you still care and you're kind.”

Derek rolls his eyes, the heat spreading to his face.

“Don't roll your eyes at me, you know it's true,” Stiles says with a chuckle. “But I'm not done, so shut up.”

Derek gives him a look, quirks a brow.

“You're talented,” Stiles says and smiles at him, “in so many ways. And not just with your cooking and baking, although that is a seriously special talent that will make me chubby one day. But I'm okay with that.”

Derek shifts, subtly moving just an inch closer.

“You're more than your past, Derek,” Stiles says, smile suddenly gone. “All the horrible things she put you through? None of it makes you any less of the amazing, caring person that you are. She's taken a lot from you and she will pay for that, I can promise you that. But do not let her take your heart too. Don't let her control the rest of your life. You're worth more than that.”

Stiles falls silent, and Derek stares at him. There's so much sincerity in Stiles' eyes that Derek nearly believes all those things. But it's hard believing any of them when his own brain is yelling at him that they're all lies and he's worth nothing.

Still, the words came from Stiles and Stiles seems to believe them. It's making Derek's heart do funny things in his chest and making him feel warm in ways he's gotten used to feeling cold.

Derek's eyes stray downward until they land on Stiles' lips. He doesn't mean for it to be more than a quick flicker but he looks and then keeps looking. He wants to move closer, wants to lean in and kiss him. He could, even seriously considers the idea for a moment.

But, in the end, he doesn't.

“You're annoying,” he says fondly and locks eyes again. “Did you know that?”

Stiles laughs at him, looking a little pink in the face.

Derek smiles and says, “And I'm still not gonna bake you a cake.”

Stiles scoffs and swats at him. “I'm serious, asshole,” he says.

Derek rolls his eyes and looks back up at the ceiling.

“I mean,” Stiles continues after a beat. “I wouldn't say no to cake.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	7. Chapter 7

Derek doesn't remember falling asleep. He must have though, because his eyes are closed and he's not a hundred percent conscious when a sound breaks the silence in the room; a creaking from the door hinges when someone opens the door as quietly as they possibly can.

His head is laying on something solid yet comfortable that's rising and falling rhythmically. Something is thumping under it too, beating steadily and–

Oh, he's sleeping on someone's chest.

If he were properly awake, he would probably be embarrassed because he can take a wild guess at whose chest he's currently sleeping on and he will most definitely be right. But he isn't fully awake so he can be embarrassed about it later.

A voice whispers something softly in the distance and another whispers back much closer. The chest under him rumbles along with the second whisper and Derek frowns in displeasure and shifts a little.

Someone chuckles, another shushes, and then the bed dips behind Derek. Randy's sniffling and small grunts are familiar even in his barely awake state, and Derek lets out a content sigh when he feels something heavy land on his lower back with a tired huff. Randy's head, he assumes.

The voices continue talking in lowered whispers but Derek hears none of it. They fade out and he falls back asleep again.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

When Derek wakes up, _really_ wakes up, Stiles is fast asleep.

He blinks a few times and squints against the bit of sunlight that flows into the room. The sun has only just started rising so the light isn't much nor is it bright. It's early, which isn't surprising. Derek has developed an internal clock that always wakes him around this time, sometimes even earlier but rarely later.

He breathes in deeply and shifts, only to freeze the second the arms around him tighten their grip and pull him closer to the warm body he's pressed again. His eyes open widely and his face heats up when he remembers where he's sleeping; cuddled up against Stiles' side and using his chest as a pillow. And Stiles is holding him, cuddling him back.

Derek ignores the flutter in his chest and wiggles his way out of Stiles' arms, careful not to wake him. Stiles makes a sound of protest but he doesn't wake and, eventually, he rolls over onto his side and continues to sleep soundly.

Now sitting and awake, Derek pushes his hair out of his face and lets himself watch Stiles for a minute. His heart is doing funny things in his chest, his face is incredibly warm and probably bright red, and his stomach is full of fluttery butterflies.

A part of him wants to lay back down and go back to sleep or pretend to sleep until long after Stiles has woken up. Another part of him wants to get up and never think about this ever again, even though he knows it will be all he can think about for the foreseeable future, whether he wants to or not.

He doesn't get to choose himself because Randy chooses for him.

Randy gets up from where he's shifted down to the foot of the bed and walks over to him, nudging at his face with his snout and making a small, impatient sound. Derek shushes him and moves to get up, wincing a little when Randy follows him noisily.

Stiles grunts and shifts a little in his sleep but doesn't wake.

Derek gets dressed quickly and puts his hair up in a secure bun, then he leaves the room and quietly closes the door after getting Randy out as well. The rest of the house is quiet when they walk through it and Erica and Boyd's car is gone by the front of the house when they walk out, Randy in a leash and Derek dressed for the morning cold.

The house is still quiet when they return an hour later, which isn't surprising. Derek is used to being the only one awake and up for at least a few hours, so he does what he always does; gives Randy his breakfast and starts making some for himself and the rest of the residents of this house.

It doesn't distract him from thinking about the way he slept nor does it distract him from thinking about his breakdown, but it distracts him from feeling bad about it. He still feels embarrassed, still feels guilty about the neglected funeral arrangements, but mostly embarrassed that he actually _slept on Stiles_.

Speaking of Stiles...

Stiles is the first one to wake up or at least _get_ up. Derek is in the middle of making cups of yogurt with muesli and berries on top, eggs cooking on the stove behind him, when Randy gets up from the floor and hobbles across the kitchen with an excited tail wag.

Derek looks over and sees Stiles come walking into the kitchen, yawning and not looking entirely awake yet. His hair is a mess atop of his head, like he didn't even bother making himself look presentable before coming downstairs. Because he's comfortable here, in Derek's house.

The thought makes Derek's heart do a back flip into a burning fire.

“Dude, your bed is super comfy,” Stiles says, then grins down at Randy and bends to pet him. “Morning to you too, boy.”

“If you'd rather sleep there from now on,” Derek says and returns to what he's doing, “I don't mind taking the couch.”

“No way in hell,” Stiles says. “I refuse to take your bed from you.”

“It's not taking if I'm offering.”

“And while it's a generous offer that I'm not at all surprised you'd make 'cause you've got a heart of gold or something, the answer is still no.”

Derek shakes his head a little, biting back a smile.

“Unless,” Stiles drawls, “you wanna share, of course.”

Derek pauses. His heart beats a little faster but he ignores it and looks over his shoulder to give Stiles a look. Stiles is smiling back at him, although it looks closer to a grin, and waggles his brows when their eyes meet.

Derek's look turns unimpressed.

“I'm not sharing a bed with you,” he says.

“Why not?” Stiles asks, sounding near offended. “I'm an awesome sleep cuddler, as you know.”

“Stiles,” Derek says firmly, ears burning. “No.”

Stiles holds up his hands in defeat and says, “Fine. But if you change your mind, I'm more than happy to be an extra pillow in your bed.”

Derek rolls his eyes and turns his back to him with a shake of his head, hiding his face before Stiles can see how red he's getting at the mere thought of sharing a bed with Stiles again. He still hasn't fully processed the fact that they shared a bed and _cuddled_ through the night, he isn't sure he can even think about doing it more often.

Although... well, the thought isn't unappealing.

“Is there any coffee?” Stiles asks after a minute. “I gotta wake my brain up 'cause I don't wanna end up falling asleep at the breakfast table. I don't need that kinda teasing in my life again, Derek. I've been to college once, I don't wanna relive it.”

Derek smiles a little, points at the coffee machine, and says, “There should be enough for a cup left.”

“You're a godsend, I swear,” Stiles says in a breath and rushes over to grab himself some coffee.

Derek returns to the breakfast, briefly switching over to check on the eggs before returning to the yogurt. He isn't looking at Stiles but he listens to him, listens to the soft footsteps shuffling across the floor behind him, the quiet yawn, a cup being filled with steaming coffee, and the satisfied hum that follows Stiles' first sip.

They're both quiet while Derek makes breakfast and Stiles drinks his coffee to wake himself up properly, leaning against the island. Derek can feel Stiles' eyes on him and he is becoming too aware of it but he tries to ignore it. Tries being the keyword because he can't, nor can he stop himself from looking over his shoulder and make eye contact with Stiles.

Stiles smiles at him, mug lifted to his lips. Derek smiles back but turns away the second he feels his face start to heat up again. He blames it on the hot stove that he's standing by.

They're both quiet for a long while, but with Stiles in the room, the quiet never lasts.

“So,” Stiles starts in a drawl that comes out teasing. “About that cake...”

Derek groans and says, “Shut up.”

Stiles laughs, and Derek doesn't bite back his smile.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Boyd comes over later in the day with no Erica in tow.

Derek is sitting out on the porch with Randy under his feet and Stiles next to him, finishing up lunch and taking a break from both their work. Inside, Cora and Isaac are bonding over a mutual love for a video game that Derek knows next to nothing about even though he bought it.

The second Boyd's car turns from the main road and rolls up toward the front of the house, Randy shoots up from his relaxed position and barks at the approaching visitor. It interrupts and abruptly ends the conversation between Derek and Stiles, and Derek looks out to the familiar car now parking.

Boyd raises a hand out of the rolled down window when he comes to a stop, and Derek rises to his feet with a smile on his lips. Randy wags his tail but sits down by Stiles' feet when Derek tells him to, while Derek hops off the porch and heads toward Boyd who is now exiting the car.

“No Erica today?” he asks and spreads out his arms.

“Nah,” Boyd says and gives him a quick hug hello. “She's at the doctor, had an appointment.”

Derek frowns. “She okay?”

“Yeah, it's just a regular check up,” Boyd says with a shrug. “Her mom's with her and they're going out for lunch after. Figured I'd give them some mother-daughter time, you know?”

Derek hums and nods in acknowledgment. He looks at Boyd, calculatingly.

Boyd looks almost nervous or maybe hesitant, shifting his weight ever so slightly from one foot to the other and fidgeting with the bundle of keys in his hand, the other buried in his jacket pocket.

Derek narrows his eyes and bites back a smile.

“You wanna make cupcakes for her again,” he guesses. “Don't you?”

“Please?” Boyd smiles at him, eyes pleading. “She gets really cute when she's excited and you know she loves your baking.”

“I think she'd love it more if you learned how to make them yourself.”

“So you're gonna give me the recipe for your mom's cupcakes?”

Derek stares at him. Boyd raises a brow back.

“Fine,” Derek sighs and turns to walk back to the house. “But you're cleaning up, after.”

Boyd agrees with an easy shrug and a pleased smile on his lips. He follows Derek to the porch where Randy immediately rises from his sitting position to say hi and Boyd crouches down to greet him properly, throwing out a quick greeting to Stiles who greets him back with a casual _hey_.

Derek grabs the plates, glass, and various utensils that he and Stiles used to eat lunch and carries them inside with him, whispering an apology to Stiles who waves a dismissive hand at him.

“Put a couple cupcakes aside for me and we're good,” Stiles says and smiles widely at him.

“Glad to know my company is worth only a couple cupcakes,” Derek mutters as he heads inside.

“A couple really good cupcakes!” Stiles calls out after him.

Derek rolls his eyes with a small smile forming on his lips and closes the door after Boyd has stepped inside too. Randy stays outside with Stiles, probably to burn off some more energy despite the long walk that Derek had taken him out on around noon.

A kitchen has always been a place of peace and happiness for Derek, a place where families gather and things that bring smiles of joy and happiness to people. He loves being in one, would live in a kitchen if it weren't for all the cons of that.

The kitchen in this house reminds him of his mom. Not because it looks anything like the kitchen they had back in the Hale house before it got burned to the ground, but because every single time he starts cooking something, the smell brings him back and makes him feel close to her again.

Baking, that's his favorite. He likes doing it alone, likes to get lost in the mechanism of it, much like he does with farming. But baking with someone else by his side is always a nice change, especially when that someone is Boyd.

Boyd isn't overly or unnecessarily messy like Erica and Isaac. He is just the right amount of messy where Derek doesn't feel the need to complain about it or feel the need to tell him to clean up after himself because Boyd does it regardless. Boyd asks before he does anything, always willing to learn despite having made the same cupcakes several times now already.

Derek likes it. Baking with Boyd is always a pleasure and, when the cupcake mix is finished and Boyd starts filling the cupcake tin carefully, they bump their fists together in silent celebration.

That's another thing; Boyd isn't much of a talker and neither is Derek. They are both quiet and only really talk when they have something of import to say and it's good like that. Neither of them feel the need to fill the silence, both comfortable enough in each other's space to just stand side by side and fill the tin with the mix while the oven heats up.

That calm silence, however, is disturbed when Cora comes walking into the kitchen.

She doesn't say anything, doesn't even really make much noise as she comes shuffling into the kitchen dressed in what looks like work out clothes. She glances at what they're making, then she looks at Derek and doesn't return the smile that he sends her tentatively.

She stares at him for a long and silent moment, then she looks away, shifts awkwardly, and walks right back out.

Derek sighs, his shoulders slumping. He lowers his head slightly, swallows past the lump in his throat, and ignores the way his heart clenches with hurt. It has been years, you'd think that he would be used to his sister hating him by now but he hasn't and he doubts he ever will. It hurts more with her here but at least she's willing to look at him without a glare now and, occasionally, she'll even talk to him.

She's here, under the same roof as him, yet he still misses her.

“You should talk to her,” Boyd says, cutting through his thoughts.

“She doesn't wanna talk to me,” Derek says.

“Then make her.”

“And make her hate me more?” Derek scoffs. “I'll pass.”

“Don't be an idiot about this, Derek,” Boyd says. “Talk to her so that when she leaves – and she will leave the second this is over, we both know that. But when she does, do you really want your relationship with her to still be this bad?”

Derek sighs and says, “Of course not.”

“Then why not talk to her?” Boyd asks with a shrug. “You've got the chance and it can't get much worse than it already is, anyway.”

Derek thinks about it. He knows Boyd has a point, knows that he and Cora have been awkwardly shuffling past each other for way too long and that it can't keep going on like this.

A part of him thought they would get better at being around each other now that they momentarily live under the same roof but he was wrong. They're not as bad as they used to be but they're still nowhere near good and he wants them to be good.

Or sort of good, at the very least. Working on it, that's what he wants. He wants them to work on it.

Cora is all the family he has left and he would give his own life for her. But what good is that when she can barely even stand to be in the same room as him? None, that's what.

Derek lets out a slow breath and nods.

“You're right,” he says. “I'll talk to her.”

“Good,” Boyd says and pats his shoulder.

He pauses though, hand hovering after the first pat. Derek blinks and looks at him, brows furrowed in confusion. Boyd is looking at his own hand and Derek's shoulder, face pulled into a grimace.

“What?” Derek asks, frowning.

“I forgot about the cake batter,” Boyd says. “On my hands.”

Derek's face falls into a less than amused expression. He stares at Boyd for another second before he looks down at his own shoulder and sees the hand print left there in cupcake batter. He sighs heavily, then raises his gaze to meet Boyd's, glaring while Boyd smiles apologetically.

“Just for that,” Derek says, “you're decorating all of these by yourself.”

“That's fair.”

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Eventually, every cupcake tin gets filled with cupcake batter. Derek puts them in the oven while Boyd starts cleaning up what little mess that's left to deal with. They wash their hands, then go into the living room to watch something while the cupcakes finish in the oven.

Derek lets Boyd pick and Boyd picks a nature show without a sign of hesitation. It's surprisingly interesting and Derek finds himself almost disappointed when the timer goes off and they have to stop the episode. But Boyd tells him they'll have a marathon night one day as they get up. Derek says _okay_ and follows him into the kitchen to get the cupcakes out.

As if he has some kind of internal time, Stiles comes inside a full twelve seconds after Derek has pulled the now finished cupcakes out of the oven. With a wide and toothy smile on his lips, he goes right over and doesn't hesitate to grab one, immediately stuffing into his mouth to take a bite, only to very quickly whine and complain that it's too hot.

Derek calls him an idiot with a roll of his eyes. He means for it to come out as an insult but he can't help but notice the fondness that seeps into the word anyway. Boyd gives him a knowing look and Derek flips him off behind Stiles' back.

True to his words, Derek leaves Boyd to do the decorating by himself. Boyd doesn't seem to mind. Rather, he nearly shoves Derek out of the kitchen the second Derek has gotten everything he needs out of the cupboard, telling him to go talk to his sister.

Derek tries to protest and fight but it isn't for long. And before he knows it, he finds himself standing in front of the guest room's closed door. Cora always keeps it closed for privacy to talk to her friends or girlfriend or whatever she gets up to in there.

He hesitates, which is ridiculous. This is his sister, someone he has known all of her life and someone he has seen wailing her heart out and shit her own pants and pee her own bed when she was little, not a complete stranger.

He was there for her first steps, there to catch her when she was still learning to walk, there to glare playground bullies away when they got too close. He was there for so much of it, yet he hesitates in front of the door, hesitates to talk to her and hopefully fix their broken relationship. If she even wants to.

Derek takes in a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and knocks on the door. A moment passes, then the door opens and Cora comes into view.

She has changed out of the work out clothes from earlier and into an oversized sweater that seems a little too colorful to be her own along with a pair of plain, black leggings. Her hair isn't up in a ponytail either, it's hanging loosely over her shoulders now.

“What?” she asks in lieu of a greeting.

Derek lets out a breath and asks, “Can we talk?”

“Why?” Cora asks after a beat.

“You know why.”

Cora looks at him for a minute, and Derek looks right back. He meets her hard gaze with a pleading one, silently begging for a minute of her time. It doesn't take long before she sighs and steps aside, pulling the door further open to let him in.

They sit down; Cora on the desk chair and Derek on the edge of the bed. Neither of them say anything for a while, longer than they probably should. It's a little bit awkward, a little uncomfortable, and Derek fidgets with the edges of his sleeves.

He lifts his eyes from the carpeted floor and looks at his sister. She looks back at him and raises her brows pointedly. It hits him then that she is waiting for him to talk, which, in all honestly, is fair. He sits up a little straighter, clears his throat, and decides to start.

“We're not okay,” he says. “Are we?”

“Obviously not,” Cora says. “Did you ever think we were?”

“I like to think we were pretty okay as kids,” Derek says and smiles a little at her.

Cora rolls her eyes and says, “That was before all this shit.”

“I know,” Derek says, smile gone. “But you're my sister. You can hate me all you want, but I will always love you.”

“I don't hate you,” Cora says and sighs heavily. “I just– I don't know how to talk to you. We're not close, we've spend years apart, and I barely even know you anymore. You're a farmer, for God's sake. Last time we talked, _really_ talked, you wanted to teach. But you're a goddamn farmer.”

Derek lifts a shoulder in a half shrug and says, “It helps me.”

“I know that, I'm not criticizing you,” Cora says. “That's not my point. My point is, I don't know you and you don't know me either. Not really, anymore.”

“Then stop avoiding me so we can fix that,” Derek pleads. “Please.”

Cora looks at him for a minute. “I don't know how,” she admits quietly.

Derek hesitates.

He has never been good at talking, which is probably one of the reasons they started to drift apart all those years ago. He kept pushing and avoiding instead of pulling like he should have. He should have been a better brother and reached out for her instead because pushing has done nothing but hurt both of them.

He has never been good at talking but he knows he has to at least try if he wants to fix things between him and his sister. And he wants to, god does he want to. She is all the family he has left and he loves her. He can't lose her, not her too.

“What if,” he starts after a minute, then tries again after clearing his throat. “What if I started? By telling you something I should have told you years ago.”

Cora blinks, then frowns at him and nods in a silent agreement.

Derek takes in a deep breath and tells her about Kate. He doesn't go into much detail, both because he can't and because he doesn't think she needs to hear every horrific thing Kate did, and he doesn't tell her everything. He tells her what he can and what he can is enough.

Through it all, he keeps his gaze lowered to his own hands that are clasped together between his spread knees. He can't look at her while he talks about this. He's afraid of her reaction, afraid that seeing her face, whichever one she is making, will make his throat close up and make him unable to finish saying this.

As it turns out, Cora is the one to stop him partway through it, not his inability to continue.

“Derek,” she says, interrupting him somehow both firmly and softly.

Derek stops talking and closes his mouth, clenching his jaw. He tenses a little, swallows dryly, and slowly lifts his chin until he can look at her. She looks sad, maybe a little horrified too, and surprised. She scoots forward on the desk chair, inching closer, and Derek tries not to tense up, at least not visibly.

“Why did you never tell us any of this?” she asks.

Derek shrugs, fidgets with the edge of his sleeve.

“She told me not to, said that if I did–” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head and swallows before he continues. “Doesn't matter. I should've told you a long time ago anyway.”

Cora stares at him in silence for a good handful of seconds before she stands from the desk chair. In a few quick and long strides, she is standing in front of him. She hesitates for a mere second, then she bends down and wraps her arms around him in a tight hug.

Derek blinks, caught off guard. But it's not long before he sits up properly and hugs her back just as tightly.

“You're stupid,” Cora mumbles into his shoulder after a while. “I can't believe you thought you had to fight her alone.”

“I had to,” Derek whispers, throat tight. “It was my fault.”

Cora squeezes him, then leans back to look at him. She doesn't let go, keeps her arms wrapped around him even though the angle is a little awkward and probably uncomfortable for her. After all, it's a little uncomfortable for him.

“Stupid,” she says. “We're family, Der. We're not supposed to fight things alone.” She pauses for a beat. “Well, I guess that's kinda... hypocritical of me to say. I mean, I did turn my back on you guys and found another family. And I don't even have an excuse for that.”

“No,” Derek says and shakes his head. “You did what you had to do. You deserve to be happy.”

Cora looks at him, frowning. “So do you,” she says.

Derek smiles at her, small and maybe a bit sad, but he says nothing.

With a sigh, Cora sits down next to him and leans into him. She rests her head on his shoulder and he reaches out to grab her hand, holding on tight. They're both silent for a while, both of them sitting there and holding onto each other's hand like it's a lifeline.

For Derek, that's what it feels like.

“We're pretty fucked up,” Cora says quietly, after a while. “Aren't we?”

Derek huffs out a chuckle and says, “Yeah, we are.”

Cora huffs and sits up. She turns to him with a smile, one that he returns before draping an arm around her and pulling her in for a half hug. She leans into him again and, for just a moment, Derek feels like they're young again and this is nothing but a nice brother-sister moment.

“But,” he says, “how 'bout we're fucked up together, huh? No more avoiding each other.”

Cora lets out a breath and looks at him. “Yeah,” she says with a nod. “Okay.”

Derek smiles at her. “I've missed you,” he says.

“I missed you too,” Cora says. “Sorry it took me so long.”

“Don't apologize,” Derek says. “You should be able to live a normal life without me breathing down your neck all the time.”

“Yeah, but we don't have a normal life. That kinda went out the window a long time ago.”

“Then we make our own normal.”

“And how's that gonna look?”

Derek sighs and shrugs. “However we want,” he says.

“Are you forgetting about the murderer that's still out there?”

“She won't be out there forever.”

Cora pauses, giving him a calculating look. “You really trust him that much, huh?” she asks.

“I do,” Derek says. “He hasn't given me a reason not to.”

“You're not worried she's gonna show up here one day?”

“Of course I am. I've been worried about seeing her again every day since I ran from her, but I haven't. And Stiles doesn't seem worried so I'm assuming she's nowhere near here.”

Cora hums and falls silent for a moment.

“I still can't believe that hurricane of a child became a special agent,” she says, chuckling.

“Come on,” Derek says and smiles. “Is it really that unbelievable?”

“He threw Laura's barbie doll into a lake,” she reminds him. “Accidentally.”

Derek pauses. “Good point,” he says.

Cora laughs, then falls quiet for a minute. A grin starts to form on her lips little by little after, and Derek narrows his eyes at her. She nudges at his side with his elbow teasingly, her brows raising.

“Hey,” she says. “Remember how Stiles used to say he was gonna marry you when he grew up?”

Derek rolls his eyes, ignores the heat in his ears. “He was a kid,” he says.

“Yeah, and now he's an adult and still acting like he wants to.”

“It doesn't mean anything.”

Cora gives him a look.

“Are you trying to tell me there's nothing going on between you two?” she asks. “Because I won't believe you.”

“And here I thought you said you didn't know me.”

“A fucking stranger could see there's something going on between you and him.”

Derek sighs and says, “There's not.”

“But you want there to be.”

Derek stares at her, deadpan. A beat passes, then he lunges forward and pulls her into a headlock. She squeaks and struggles under his arm but he holds her there with a grin. She yells at him to let her go, laughter in her voice. Derek laughs and keeps a hold on her for another minute before he slowly loosens his grip to let her free.

Sitting again, Cora punches his shoulder and says, “Asshole.”

“I love you too,” Derek says and smiles at her.

Cora rolls her eyes and brushes the hair out of her face.

“Oh, great,” she sighs. “My hair's all over the place now, thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

“I'm gonna steal all your hair ties from now on, just so you know.”

“I'll steal them back.”

Cora scoffs at him.

“You know,” she says after a beat, looking him over. “I still can't believe you actually grew your hair out this long.”

“Does it look that bad?” Derek asks and brushes a lock behind his ear.

“Nah,” Cora says and smiles at him. “It actually kinda suits you. The beard, too.”

Derek smiles at her. “Thanks.”

They fall silent again. Cora leans back into him and Derek wraps his arm around her, resting his cheek against the top of her head when she rests it against his chest. Derek can hear people milling around in the house, both human feet and dog paws. But the door is closed, giving them privacy, and Derek can't help but smile softly down at his sister.

This is the most time they have spend together in years and while it feels weird and not entirely real, it also feels really good. It feels like the start of something good, the start of repairing their relationship. This brief talk was the first of many band-aids to help them heal, it would seem.

“Remember what mom used to say,” Cora asks quietly, a while later, “when we got hurt or were sad?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, smiling a little. “Hold on.”

In a whisper, Cora finishes for him: “Pain ends.”

Derek kisses the top of Cora's head and holds her a little tighter. She hugs him back.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek is pleasantly surprised when Cora comes into his bedroom later that day, carrying her laptop in her arms. She doesn't knock and just comes barging right in and hops onto the bed where he's sitting spread out, a book open in his hand and Randy asleep with his head in his lap.

“Uh,” he starts, watching as she knee walks up to sit next to him. “Hi?”

“Hi,” Cora says and makes herself comfortable by his side, laptop open in her lap. “Stop reading, I want you to meet someone.”

Derek closes his book and puts it aside without question or hesitation. He bites back a smile when Cora leans further into his side once he's sitting up properly again. He puts a hand on Randy's head to pet him when he grunts in annoyance at the movements while he looks at Cora for another moment, but then he follows her eyes to the screen of her laptop.

A red haired woman is taking up most of the screen, a chat window open next to her. She's smiling, a small uptick in the corners of her lips, and her eyes are flickering a little from side to side. It looks like she's laying down somewhere, maybe a bed judging by the duvet that she has tugged up against her chest.

It takes Derek a second too long before it clicks and he figures out why she looks so familiar. This is the same woman that Cora had said goodbye to in Colombia, meaning this is her girlfriend.

Derek immediately straightens up a little and tries not to give away how overjoyed he is.

“Lydia,” Cora says, addressing the woman on the laptop. “This is my brother, Derek. Derek, this is my girlfriend, Lydia Martin.”

“Hi,” Lydia says, her smile growing wider.

“Hey,” Derek greets back. “Nice to finally meet you. Well, sort of meet you.”

“You too,” Lydia says. “You know, I've heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” Derek says because that's what he is supposed to. Obviously, he knows the answer.

“Well,” Lydia drawls and cringes a little. “Some of them.”

Next to him, Cora sighs and rolls her eyes a little.

Derek grins, nudges her, and tells Lydia, “And I have heard barely anything about you, so I guess we're even.”

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” Cora mumbles, mostly to herself.

They talk for a while, him, Cora, and Lydia. Lydia, Derek learns, is damn near perfect for his sister. She's got an attitude that Cora responds to with an equal amount of sass, always with a fond look in her eyes.

It doesn't take more than a few minutes before it becomes crystal clear to him that they love each other and the more they talk, the more obvious it becomes that Cora misses her girlfriend something fierce.

Derek doesn't blame her. When they end the call to let Lydia study for her upcoming exam, he pulls Cora in for a hug and quietly promises her that she will see Lydia again soon. He thanks her for introducing them too, and Cora pulls back to smile at him.

“No more avoiding, right?” she asks.

Derek smiles at her and echoes, “Right.”

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

The following day, Derek drags Cora out of the house with him to go grocery shopping since the fridge is getting dangerously empty and he's running out of things to make from his crops alone.

Despite their promise to each other, he still expects some resistance when he asks her to come along with him but she only sighs and tells him _okay_ before she follows him out the front door and into the passenger seat of his car.

The ride to the store is fairly short and Derek doesn't expect much from it. He doesn't get much either, no more than Cora fiddling with the radio and flicking through every station on repeat because she apparently can't find anything good enough.

When she starts on a fourth cycle, Derek has had enough of it.

“Just pick a fucking station,” he snaps and shoots her a glare.

Cora returns the glare, makes a face at him, and continues to go through the stations. Derek takes in a deep breath and tries to calm himself. Just before he reaches out to turn the radio off altogether though, Cora finds a station with music and finally takes her hand off the radio.

“You're too easy to rile up,” she says after a minute.

She's grinning when Derek glances over at her. It's almost, _almost_ , enough to make him smile too but he doesn't and only narrows his eyes at her, hoping the twitch in the corner of his lips goes unnoticed by her. He's not sure if it does or doesn't, but Cora's grin grows wider.

“You're the worst,” he says and looks back out to the road.

Cora laughs, and Derek stops biting back the smile.

When they arrive, it takes them a minute to find an available parking spot. Not because there happen to be a whole lot of cars, the store just isn't that big which means the parking lot isn't spacious either. But they find one, get a cart, and walk inside.

Usually, Derek goes grocery shopping by himself.

Sometimes Isaac comes with him but Derek usually has to drag him out with him and then Isaac will spend most of the time sighing and complaining and asking for anything _not_ on the grocery list. More often than not, he gets a no but then Derek will find a candy bar when they're checking out anyway and Isaac will smile innocently back at him.

He's a teenager who was never allowed to rebel before in fear of being physically and violently beaten and punished, so Derek lets it slide. Well, not always but most of the time. Everyone should be allowed to be a bit rebellious and this is nothing bad, after all.

Other times, Derek will meet up with Boyd in the parking lot and they'll do their respective grocery shopping together. That's a rarity though, since Erica and Boyd started traveling the world now that neither of them are in school and their work schedules are flexible.

Derek is used to doing all the grocery shopping alone with nothing but the list that he writes on the days leading up to grocery day and his phone occasionally buzzing with a text from Isaac with a reminder of something they're missing at home.

He is used to it, doesn't mind it, but having Cora to keep him company today is a nice change of things. She carries the list as they stroll through the store and the aisles, grabbing products when they pass them. They work together as a team with the occasional sibling teasing because they may not be okay yet but they're still brother and sister and that's how they work.

They make it through most of the list fairly quick, all things considered. It's not quicker than Derek would have gotten it done by himself with no distractions but it's not that much slower either. They're efficient, the two of them.

It's when they're headed toward checkout to pay, their cart full, that things make an unexpected turn downward and the good mood becomes somber and maybe a little sad, too.

Cora stops walking all of the sudden. It's so abrupt that Derek doesn't notice until three steps later. When he does, he stops too and turns to look at his sister with a confused frown.

Cora is staring at the magazines displayed on the wall. There's a look on her face that isn't interest but rather it's sad and a little guarded.

“Cora?” Derek asks carefully, slowly walking over to her.

“I almost reached into my pocket,” Cora says, “to text Laura and ask if she's read the new issue yet.”

Derek is about to ask what she means but then he follows her line of sight and sees exactly what has grabbed her attention; the Cosmopolitan. Seeing it makes his heart clench and sink a little lower, his throat a little tight.

Without taking his eyes off it, he steps closer to Cora and asks, “Did she ever not read it the second it came out?”

“No,” Cora says with a halfhearted scoff. “Which makes no sense 'cause she always complained about it.”

“Yeah,” Derek says and smiles a little. “She hated that magazine, yet she had, what? A hundred issues?”

“At least. She used to barge into my room just to complain about it. Loudly, might I add.”

“And then when you kicked her out, she'd come bother me with it.”

“She was stupid.”

“Annoying, too.”

“So fucking unbelievably annoying, holy shit.”

Derek chuckles quietly, a small smile on his lips. Next to him, Cora sighs and shakes her head a little but there's a smile on her lips too. It's sad, like Derek knows his own is.

“We need to give her a proper funeral,” Cora says after a minute.

The smile on Derek's lips fades, guilt washing over him. His mind immediately flashes back to the missed calls and unanswered emails on his phone from Deaton regarding the funeral arrangements for Laura.

“I know,” he says in a quiet whisper and wraps an arm around Cora, pulling her in for a half hug.

They finish grocery shopping in an awkward, somber silence. The ride back to the house is silent too, aside from the radio that Cora leaves untouched after she finds a station that plays music.

Derek tries to ignore the guilt stabbing at his gut but it's hard.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Despite the awkward end to their grocery shopping, Cora comes downstairs and helps with dinner when Derek asks her to.

Well, _help_ is a bit of a stretch, actually. She helps for about five minutes by chopping up vegetables and fruit for the salad, before she lets Randy drag her away to play with him. The two of them end up playing tug-of-war and catch on the kitchen floor, somehow avoiding knocking something over.

Derek doesn't complain about the lack of help. He's just glad that Cora is down here with him, in the same room and not hiding away to avoid him anymore. It feels good and almost like she's back with him even though he knows that they've still got a ways to go before they're even remotely okay.

Stiles comes into the kitchen to set the table a few minutes before dinner is ready. It feels almost domestic, having him walk in like he belongs there and come up behind Derek to steal a chopped piece of carrot before Derek can swat his hand away, then move on to actually set the table with a grin on his lips.

Derek wants to grab his waist and pull him back in, maybe kiss him a little or a lot. But he doesn't.

He catches Cora's eye when he finally forces himself to look away from Stiles. She gives him a pointed look, her brows raising. Derek makes a face at her in return and mouths _shut up_ , silently hoping that she will and won't go hinting at anything.

Isaac comes downstairs and into the kitchen a couple of minutes after Derek has called out for him and they all sit down around the dinner table to start eating. The conversation flows naturally after Stiles asks Isaac about his studies and if there's anything interesting he's reading.

Derek tries not to think about how this feel. Sitting around the dinner table with Stiles across from him, their feet inches apart under the table, and with Isaac and Cora on either of their sides, that is. He tries not to think about it but, like so many other things, he is too aware of it. He can't _not_ think about it.

It feels too calm, too normal, and it's making him uneasy. It feels like the calm before a storm and it's making his stomach clench in fear of something that might not even come.

But his gut has been right to feel like this before and it's right again this time.

Well, sort of.

They're in the middle of dinner when their conversation is abruptly put to an end by the sound of a phone ringing from Stiles' pocket. Derek freezes and Cora does the same next to him, while Stiles digs into his pocket to pull his phone out.

Stiles stares down at it for a second, then looks across the table and locks eyes with Derek. Derek isn't sure what to make of that look but he's not sure that he likes it. He's even more unsure when Stiles' face hardens and he excuses himself before rising from the table, putting the phone to his ear.

Stiles steps far enough away that Derek can't hear what he's saying. He can only watch as Stiles' shoulders go from tense to slumped gradually. It feels like the phone call lasts an eternity when in reality it probably isn't more than a couple of minutes before Stiles hangs up again.

He doesn't turn around immediately. He stays still, head bowed slightly and free hand rubbing at his eyes a little. But then he turns and walks back over, an expression on his face that is near shocked.

And then he opens his mouth, and Derek wants to ask for someone to pinch him.

“They got her,” Stiles says. “Kate Argent has been arrested.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	8. Chapter 8

Derek always thought that the next time he saw Kate Argent, it would be right before he died. He's had countless nightmares about it, several of them waking him up to a soaked shirt and a damp bed sheet. Never in his wildest dreams did he think that he would be sitting in a courtroom when guards lead her in, dressed in a jail uniform and chains that rattle loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

It feels surreal, seeing her like this.

In all the years that Derek has known her, Kate has always been powerful and sure of herself. She's always been confident, has always held herself like she thinks she's better than everyone around her, has always oozed this power that made her seem intimidating, which is what attracted him to her in the first place and then what ended up terrifying the living hell out of him.

But now, she looks like she hasn't slept or had a proper shower in days. She's covered in bruises and wounds like she was in a fight and she looks weak for the first time ever. For the first time, she looks defeated and she does not look happy about it. She looks furious.

Seeing her like this should make Derek happy. It does, honestly. It feels good to see her being the weak one in chains and being shoved around for once. But he can't think about that because seeing her immediately fills him with this fear that makes him want to throw up the little he ate this morning.

Seeing her makes him want to run. There are several people between them and she hasn't even glanced in his direction, but he's filled with this sudden urge to get the hell out of here. Rationally, he knows she can't get to him. She's in chains and there are guards on either side of her, caging her in, along with several heavily armed guards at every exit.

But none of that makes him feel any less scared. He's having trouble breathing, he's tense, his blunt nails are digging into the palms of his hands from how hard he's clenching his fists, and his heart is beating so loudly and rapidly that he doesn't hear anything the judge says as the trial begins.

A hand covers his right fist and Derek stops breathing for a moment, tensing even more. The hand over his squeezes and stays there for a minute, holding until it stops shaking. Derek didn't even realize he was doing that.

“Breathe,” Stiles' voice whispers in his ear.

Derek lets out a heavy breath that he pretends isn't as shaky and unsteady as it actually is.

“How many guards do you see?” Stiles asks quietly.

Derek lifts his gaze and looks around the room, counting the guards.

“Seven,” he answers tightly.

“Good,” Stiles praises, squeezing his hand. “And how many agents?”

“Five,” Derek says. He counted them when they sat down.

“Six,” Stiles says. “You forgot one.”

Derek glances at him. Stiles smiles and points at himself.

“Sorry,” Derek mumbles.

“Don't be,” Stiles says and squeezes his hand again. “Open your hand.”

After a beat, Derek does. Stiles slips his own hand in and grabs a hold of Derek's, squeezing tightly in a way that's probably supposed to be reassuring but all it does is send Derek's heart into a somersault. It does momentarily distract him from the fear though, so he guesses that's an improvement.

“There you go,” Stiles says, smiling at him. “If it gets too much, squeeze my hand and I'll get you out of here without anyone noticing. Okay?”

Derek doesn't trust his own voice, so he only nods. Stiles smiles at him, a small and reassuring smile, and squeezes his hand once before he looks back ahead of them, face hardening in the blink of an eye.

Derek stares at him for a moment, but then he looks away and over to his other side where Cora is sitting. She doesn't look okay either, so he nudges her and raises his brows in a silent question when she turns to him. She shrugs in answer, and Derek nods in agreement before he reaches over and grabs onto her hand too, squeezing hers and letting Stiles' be a reassuring presence.

Cora looks forward again and, after taking in a deep breath, Derek does too.

The rest of the trial is a blur, even when he's called up as a witness. He gets through it, though. He doesn't panic, at least not too much, even though Kate is glaring daggers at him the entire time. He tries not to look at her and focuses on just pushing through, doing his best not to give in to the instinct that tells him to run and run fast.

It's a blur and before he knows it, he's standing outside the courtroom and waiting for the jury's decision.

It's nerve wracking, this waiting around. He hates it, hates that the arms on the clock in the hall move tortuously slow and the minutes seem to tick by an eternity apart. He wishes he had super hearing so he could listen in to the discussion the jury and the judge are having, so he could at least prepare himself. But he doesn't so all he can listen to are the murmuring voices around him.

“Drink this,” a voice says, louder than the others'.

Derek blinks and looks from the clock to Erica who is holding an uncapped bottle of water out to him. He stares at her for a second too long, so she grabs his hand and makes him take it.

“Come on,” she says. “I know you're not gonna eat anything but you have to at least drink something.”

Derek sighs but raises the bottle to his lips anyway. He means to only take a sip of it but he ends up downing half of it, apparently more thirsty than he thought he was. Which makes sense, he hasn't really been able to eat or drink anything all day, too worked up thinking about all of this.

“Thanks,” he says and hands the bottle back, running his free hand through his beard.

Erica smiles at him and screws the cap back onto the bottle.

“It's gonna be okay,” she says. “Few more minutes and this is all over.”

Derek takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly again. It doesn't help with the knot in his stomach. He nods anyway and offers her a brief smile that he knows is painfully, obviously fake.

Instead of turning his attention back to the clock to watch the seconds tick by, Derek looks around. He looks to where Boyd and Isaac are sitting with Cora on a bench nearby, her leg shaking with anxiety and head bowed. His eyes keep moving, wandering further down the hall until they land on the group of agents standing together, Stiles included.

And, among them, stands Allison Argent too.

Now that he thinks about it, Allison doesn't look much like her aunt. Her hair is dark, a near black, while Kate is blonde. Allison is fair skinned while Kate is tanned. Allison holds herself with a lot of confidence too but it's not intimidating nor is it scary. Rather, it's almost comforting, especially when it's joined by a dimpled smile that forms on her face when she looks his way and they make eye contact.

Derek looks at her for a moment, then he takes in a deep breath and heads over there. She doesn't look away as he approaches but the closer he gets, the more her smile fades.

“Allison,” he says a few steps from her.

“Yeah?” Allison asks with a slight tilt of her head.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Derek asks, shooting a glance to Stiles who turns to them curiously. “Privately.”

Stiles frowns and asks, “Everything okay, Derek?”

Derek nods and says, “Yeah.”

Allison follows him when he turns and walks away. They find a corner at the end of the hall that's quiet and a good distance from everyone else but still close enough that they can see the doors leading into the courtroom, in case the jury makes a decision before they finish talking.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Derek says, hands stuffed into his jacket's pockets. “For catching her.”

“Well, then I guess I should thank you back,” Allison says with a smile. “Without you, I wouldn't have been able to find her.”

“Without you, she would have killed my little sister, too.”

Allison's smile fades away in a second.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “She should've been stopped years ago, way before any of this happened. And I'm sorry for what she did to you.”

Derek shakes his head and says, “That's not for you to apologize for.”

“Someone has to. She won't do it.”

“I don't want an apology. It means nothing. Not from her and, no offense, it doesn't mean anything from you either.”

“No offense taken. I get it. I mean, I don't really _get it_ but I understand that apologies mean nothing.”

“Then don't give me one.”

“Understood,” Allison says and nods. She pauses for a beat, then she smiles and asks, “But would it help if I told you that I kicked her ass six ways to Sunday when I caught her?”

Derek smiles at her and huffs out a chuckle.

“Yeah,” he says. “That helps.”

Allison's smile grows wider, as does Derek's. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, they don't get to talk more because then they get called back in.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Guilty.

That's the conclusion that the jury comes to and the one that the judge announces back in the courtroom. Derek stops breathing and stares, gapes a little as the judge continues speaking and the people around him start murmuring among each other. He's having a hard time processing this or even believing that this is real life and not a dream.

Guilty, the judge repeats and slams her gavel as an end to her statement. Kate Argent has been found guilty of all charges and will serve life in prison.

Around him, people rise and the guards lead a fuming Kate out of the courtroom. Derek watches her, wants to smile and show her that he's happy she finally lost, but he finds himself only able to stare and gape after her, even when she turns her furious glare toward him. He's not scared, she can't hurt him anymore.

It's hard to process. It doesn't even feel real.

“Pinch me,” he breathes out after a minute.

Cora reaches over and pinches the meat of his bicep. It hurts.

“Is it real?” she asks, sounding just as baffled as he feels.

“Yeah,” he says. “It's real.”

Cora lets out a breathy chuckle and falls heavily back on her seat. When Derek looks at her, she's smiling and her eyes are shiny with unshed tears.

“Burn in hell, you bitch,” she whispers and raises a hand to flip Kate off right before she disappears out of the courtroom.

Derek smiles a small smile and twists enough to pull Cora in for a hug. It's awkward and a little uncomfortable with both of them still sitting down, but she hugs him back and tightens her grip at the same time that he does, neither of them seeming to care how uncomfortable it is. They both need this, he knows.

They stay wrapped around each other for a bit, then they part with a final squeeze. Cora smiles at him and rises from her seat. She tells him she'll be right back, her phone already out of her pocket when she turns to leave the courtroom. She doesn't need to say anything, Derek already knows she's about to call her girlfriend, as she should.

With a sigh, Derek sits back in his seat and looks ahead. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are standing nearby, probably waiting for him to get up, but he can't get himself to move. At least not yet. He needs to sit here and take it in, wrap his head around the fact that it's over.

Kate is being put in prison to rot for the rest of her life.

It's over.

“I told you it'd be over soon,” a voice says.

Derek looks up and sees Stiles standing next to him, a smile on his lips and a hand in his pocket.

Derek returns the smile, although tiredly, and says, “You did. Thank you.”

“Don't thank me,” Stiles with a shake of his head. “I barely did any of the work. Allison's the real hero.”

“No,” Derek says. “You both are.”

Stiles looks at him, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. Derek's heart does that familiar somersault when he sees it but instead of panicking, he welcomes it. There's a part of him that still wants to panic, that still wants to push these feelings away, but there's another part of him that wants to hold onto it, cling to it like an anchor.

He's starting to lean more toward the latter, now.

“Well,” Stiles says, shifting his weight. “I guess this means I can finally go back to my own place.”

Derek rolls his eyes and stands with a shake of his head, a little smile forming on his lips. Stiles is grinning back at him when he looks, wide and toothy and happy. It doesn't help the fluttering in Derek's chest, something he isn't surprised by.

“You're an idiot,” Derek tells him.

“You love me anyway.”

He does but he doesn't say it.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

They celebrate. Erica insists on it, tells him that they all deserve to celebrate something this good when he sighs in protest. All of them; the agents who worked on the case, whether officially or unofficially, but especially Derek and Cora. They deserve to celebrate the end of the horror and the start of their lives, she says.

Derek smiles at her and gives in. He lets her invite whoever she wants, lets her plan a celebration in whatever way she wants to. He's tired and he would rather go home and sleep but she's excited and persistent so how could he say no? She does agree to the compromise that it won't be anything big or too overwhelming, though.

Besides, everyone does deserve to celebrate this win.

Derek's house becomes fuller than it's been in... well, than it's ever been, really. It's not stuffed to the brim, nor is it overwhelmingly full. It almost feels like a Hale family reunion with how much chatter the people here make and how much space they take up. There are no kids though, so it's not entirely the same.

Erica invites everyone who worked on the case which turns out to be Stiles, Allison, Kira, Danny, and a good handful of other people that Derek doesn't remember the names of, even when they tell him. They're good people though, polite and giving him and Cora their condolences as well as their congratulations.

The attention is almost overwhelming but it doesn't stay on him for long because unlike him, Randy loves the attention and easily drags it over to him with a bit of nudging. It calms Derek to know that he has Randy nearby, ready to take the attention away from him whether he wants to or not.

They celebrate with beers, champagne, and various other alcoholic drinks, except for Isaac who is forced to drink something non-alcoholic because he's underage and Derek who doesn't drink and sticks to water. Boyd finds the baked goods that Derek made days ago and serves them out for people to eat when Derek nods in a silent okay.

It feels a little too overwhelming at one point but everyone is having a good time and Derek doesn't want to ruin that, so he retreats to the kitchen where Kira and a couple other agents are refilling their glasses.

It's quieter here, most of the party enjoying themselves in the living room. He takes a minute to breathe, a minute to calm and collect himself. It has been a long and emotional day, and he feels a bit– _a lot_ drained. He's still having a hard time believing this is actually real, despite the constant reminder that it is.

He lets out a slow breath and closes his eyes. Breathes in, out, in, out, in–

“You okay?” a voice asks, breaking through the wall of quiet he's put up.

Derek opens his eyes and looks at where Stiles is standing in front of him, a small furrow in his brows and eyes swimming with worry. There's a crooked smile on his lips that looks both kind and, for some reason, nervous.

“Yeah,” Derek says. “I'm okay, just... tired.”

“Totally understandable,” Stiles says and sways half a step closer. “It's been quite the day, huh?”

Derek huffs and says, “You could say that.”

“Is it too much?” Stiles asks. “The party and the people, I mean. 'Cause we don't have to be here. We can just go somewhere else and let you process and sleep or–”

“No,” Derek interrupts. “It's okay. Everyone's having fun, I don't want to ruin that.”

“It's your house.”

“Which is why they can stay.”

Stiles' smile grows wider and softer.

“You're a good man,” he says. “You know that, right?”

Derek rolls his eyes and sips at his water as an excuse to say nothing.

“No, really,” Stiles continues with a chuckle. “You are. Like, you've been through so much shit and no one would blame you if you were bitter and grumpy, which you are sometimes, but you're all soft and caring deep down. You're so stupidly kind, it's ridiculous.”

“Shut up,” Derek groans and hides his face behind the palm of his hand.

“No way in hell, dude,” Stiles says. “I'm gonna dote on you with compliments all fucking night.”

“I hate you,” Derek says, face burning.

Stiles nods and says, “I know you do.”

Slowly, Derek lowers his hand from his face and gives Stiles a glare that he knows doesn't come off as threatening or warning as he means for it to. Stiles smiles back at him and winks, and Derek's ears heat up.

The smile on Stiles' face quickly fades though, the nervous look returning to his face. It makes Derek frown, exhaustion forgotten in the sake of worrying about whatever it is that's making Stiles visibly nervous.

“Hey, uh,” Stiles says and shifts. “Can I talk with you for a second? Somewhere private.”

Derek's frown deepens, brows furrowing. He doesn't ask any question, although he wants to, and only nods in a silent _yes_.

Putting his glass down, he walks out of the kitchen with Stiles close behind. They walk through the house together, passing Isaac and Erica who send Derek questioning looks but neither of them follow after Derek shrugs in response.

They end up on the porch, the front door closed behind them to give them privacy. The air is cold out here, the sky above them dark and filled with stars and a near full moon. The porch lights are on but the darkness stretches for miles over the crops swaying slightly in the wind.

Here, the noise from inside is muffled and it creates a more private setting, just for him and Stiles.

“What's wrong?” is the first thing Derek asks, because he assumes that's why Stiles wants to talk.

“Nothing,” Stiles says and turns to face him, eyes on the ground. “I just– I have something I've been meaning to tell you for a while but the timing was never right 'cause we've both been pretty caught up in this whole mess. But now that's over, so I feel like now is the right time to tell you.”

Derek blinks, frowns. “Okay,” he says slowly.

Stiles inhales deeply through his nostrils, chest expanding, and fidgets with his fingers. He stays silent for a minute, shifting from foot to foot like he wants to pace but is forcing himself to stand still, or as still as he can.

Derek watches him, frowning deeper but saying nothing.

“Okay,” Stiles says and looks up at him, letting out a breath. “When we were kids, I kinda looked up to you. I thought you were the coolest person on planet Earth, which you were– _are_. You're still the coolest person on Earth, if you ask me, but it's– I don't know, it's in a different way? 'Cause you're different, obviously, but still cool.”

Derek raises both brows when Stiles groans and scratches his head, messing his hair up.

“Okay,” Stiles says, again. “I don't know where the hell I'm going with this so I'm just gonna– I'm just gonna come out and say it.”

Derek stares, brows coming back down in a furrow.

Stiles takes in a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and looks into Derek's eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “As in, I'm in love with you.”

Derek blinks, blinks again.

If he thought his heart was doing somersaults before, those words make it do a million in a row, pounding so hard it feels like it's trying to break out of his chest. His face heats up, ears bright red, and his brain stops working altogether.

“I don't expect you to feel the same,” Stiles continues, hands moving as he talks. “That would be insane. I mean, come on. I was a hyperactive, annoying kid back then and I'm not much better now, although I do think I've gotten better at controlling myself, including my brain-to-mouth filter. Right now doesn't count though, so shut up. But, like, obviously I don't expect you to feel the same way about me. You've been through a lot–”

“Stiles.”

“– and you probably haven't even thought about any feelings you may or may not have for me. That's totally understandable, your life has been crazy. So don't feel bad if you don't feel the same 'cause I get it. I do. I just– I wanted you to–”

“Stiles,” Derek repeats, firmer this time, and Stiles stops talking. “I do.”

Derek's heart is going crazy in his chest, even before the words leave his mouth. He ignores it.

Stiles blinks at him, wide eyed. “What?”

“I do,” Derek says. “Feel the same.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathes. A smile grows on his face, wide and bright.

“But,” Derek continues, and Stiles' face falls. “I– I'm a mess.”

“That's okay,” Stiles says. “We'll work on that.”

Derek smiles, a little sad. “You–”

“I swear to God,” Stiles interrupts, pointing at him. “If you tell me that I deserve better or any bullshit like that, I'm gonna punch you in the face. With my face. Gently. With my lips. Kissing. I'm gonna kiss you.”

Derek rolls his eyes and shakes his head, unable to stop his smile from turning fond.

“You're an idiot,” he says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says and shrugs. “But you love me.”

Out of habit, Derek opens his mouth to deny it. He never gets those words out though, not when he sees the meaningful look that Stiles is giving him, like he's silently telling him not to deny it. Derek decides to listen, for once.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. Admitting it feels good but still scary. “I do.”

“And I love you.”

Derek smiles, and Stiles smiles back softly.

They look at each other for a minute, neither of them saying anything and neither of them losing their smiles. It's quiet outside, the noise from the celebratory party inside muffled by the walls and doors between them, distant and far away.

Derek doesn't pay attention to any of it, not even the hooting owl or any of the other small sounds around them. He doesn't pay attention to anything except for Stiles.

They look at each other for a minute, then, without losing the soft look on his face, Stiles steps closer and closer until there's barely a step between them. The air is cold around them but standing this close, Derek forgets to shiver and to feel cold. He can feel Stiles' breathing hitting his face and his eyes instinctively lower to look at Stiles' lips.

Any other time, he would have forced himself to look away. Now, he can't nor does he want to.

Stiles raises a hand and rests it against Derek's cheek. His touch is gently at first but when Derek leans into it ever so slightly, the touch becomes firm and a warm presence. His thumb touches along the thick beard for a moment before it moves down to touch along his bottom lip.

Derek can do nothing but lean into it and watch Stiles, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Can I kiss you?” Stiles asks, voice breathy.

Derek swallows thickly. “Yeah,” he whispers.

Stiles' other hand joins his first, cupping Derek's face. He shuffles the last bit closer until there's barely any space left between them and leans in. His lips brush against Derek's, not a real kiss and barely a touch, like Stiles is giving him a second to back out if he wants to.

Derek doesn't, so he kisses him.

Derek hasn't been kissed in a long, long time. It has been so long that he has forgotten what it feels like, to be touched and cared for like this. He has forgotten how good it can feel to be kissed and to kiss someone, but he highly doubts it has ever felt quite like this before. He doubts a simple kiss has ever made him feel quite this loved.

The kiss is soft, incredibly so. The way Stiles' lips fit against his own and the way Stiles' thumbs brush over his face like he just can't stop himself from touching; all of it is making Derek's knees feel weak and his heart do somersault after somersault in his chest.

He makes a noise, something closer to a whimper, that he would have been embarrassed by but then Stiles grips him a little tighter, presses flush against him, and kisses him a little firmer, a little deeper, and Derek forgets to be embarrassed by anything.

He clutches at Stiles' hips, his grip tight like he's afraid Stiles is going to step away. In a way, he is. He doesn't want Stiles to step away, doesn't want him to stop kissing him this softly and lovingly, each brush of their lips like a silent love confession.

Derek doesn't want it to stop even though he knows, realistically, that he has to breathe eventually.

Stiles is the one to pull back first. He does it slowly and lets his lips linger over Derek's. Derek chases after him desperately. Stiles kisses him once more, as firmly as the first time and somehow softer, and Derek sighs into it. But then they part and Stiles rests his forehead against Derek's, both of them breathing into each other's space.

Derek is pretty sure Stiles is able to hear his heart with how loud it's beating, his chest thumping with it. But he doesn't care, his lips tingling and tasting like Stiles.

“Your beard tickles,” Stiles says after a minute.

Derek huffs and says, “Sorry.”

“No,” Stiles says and kisses him briefly. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Dude, are you kidding?” Stiles leans back and squishes Derek's cheeks, fingers threading through the beard hairs. “This beard is fucking majestic. I have literally never seen a beard this beautiful before and I have seen my fair share of beards, let me tell ya. The fact that I get to rub my face all over it is like a dream come true.”

Derek rolls his eyes, a fond smile on his lips.

“And don't even get me started on your hair!” Stiles continues and brings one hand from Derek's cheek up to gesture to his hair that is still put into a bun. He doesn't touch and the hand quickly returns to Derek's cheek. “Honestly, it's so goddamn beautiful and suits you so well. Please never cut it.”

“I wasn't planning on it,” Derek says.

“Good,” Stiles says, then his eyes widen comically. “Oh my God, please tell me I can touch it sometime. You have no idea how long I've been wanting to run my fingers through your hair.”

Derek blushes at the suggestion alone and says, “I'd like that.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says and grins widely.

Eventually, one of Stiles' hands leave Derek's cheek to rest on the nape of his neck instead. The other stays to run his fingers through Derek's beard, the touch almost absent. It's a little weird, Derek thinks, but there's a soft look on Stiles' face so he decides that he doesn't mind it.

For the first couple of minutes, at least.

“Stiles,” he says after a while.

Stiles hums in response.

“Stop touching me.”

Stiles removes his hands immediately.

“Kiss me instead.”

“I kinda have to touch you for that, though.”

“Fine. You can touch me, just stop petting my beard like it's a damn pet.

“Uh, his name is Miguel and he likes to eat cookie crumbs.”

Derek gives him a deadpan look, then shoves at Stiles and moves to step away. Stiles doesn't let him go far, reaching out to grab his hand and pulling him right back in with a laugh that makes it near impossible for Derek not to smile at the sound of it.

“I'm kidding,” Stiles laughs and wraps his arm around Derek's waist, pulling him close. “Come here and let me kiss you, baby.”

Derek flushes at the endearment. “You're terrible,” he mutters and leans into him.

“You're the one who loves me anyway,” Stiles says, then reaches up to nudge at Derek's chin. “Hey. You like it when I call you baby?”

Derek shrugs. “It's okay.”

“Your ears are bright red, it's definitely more than okay.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Yeah, okay, I can do that.”

This kiss isn't quite as soft. It starts out that way but then Derek tightens his grip around Stiles a little, Stiles makes a noise close to a moan, and it stops being so soft and gentle.

This kiss isn't soft and gentle, it's charged with lust and love and desperation.

Stiles moves his arm from around Derek's waist to drag both hands up along his torso in a slow and lingering movement. He snakes his arms around Derek's neck, tilting his head at the same time as he leans further into him. His lips part, and Derek lets his own part along with them, the kiss deepening.

At the first touch of Stiles' tongue against his own, Derek forgets how to function for a second. His knees nearly buckle which makes him tighten his hold on Stiles for support, suddenly glad that there's a railing behind him, and a noise that sounds a little too close to a moan leaves him.

The noise seems to only spur Stiles on. One of his hands moves to the back of Derek's head, carefully below the bun that has gotten a little messy now, while the other moves to the side of his face, both cradling his head and keeping him close.

It probably looks like Stiles is dominating the kiss and he sort of is, in a way. But to Derek, it doesn't feel like it. It feels more like gentle guiding, like Stiles is leading him through it, coaxing him along. They're equals in the kiss, both taking and giving, both touching and responding to each other's noises.

Derek has never felt this light yet grounded at the same time. Not with anyone, before. He never wants this feeling to end but, like all good things, it does eventually end.

In the back of his mind, Derek is aware of the front door opening, the hinges whining. The noise from inside gets louder all of the sudden, but he's a little too preoccupied with Stiles' tongue in his mouth to pay any kind of attention to his surroundings.

At least, that is, until a familiar voice interrupts them loudly.

“They're making out!” Erica yells, a crowd of cheers and a few surprised _whats_ following from inside.

Stiles pulls back abruptly, leaving Derek to chase pathetically after his lips, only to stop a second later because Stiles has turned his head and is now staring wide eyed and pink faced at the open door where Erica is grinning widely at them. He doesn't step away though, doesn't let go of Derek.

Derek blinks a few times, dazed. He licks his lips and follows Stiles' eyes to Erica. She gives him a dorky thumbs up, winks at him, and steps back inside.

“You owe me ten bucks, Cora!” she yells into the house before closing the door after her.

There's a few beats of silence, then Derek groans and lets his head fall heavily onto Stiles' shoulder. His face is bright red, he doesn't need to look in a mirror to know that. It feels warm, despite the cool air around them.

Stiles, however, seems to find the situation hilarious because he starts shaking with laughter.

“It's not funny,” Derek grumbles into his chest.

“You're right,” Stiles says, still laughing. “It's hilarious.”

Derek groans.

“Oh my God,” Stiles continues between laughs. “We probably looked like deer caught in a headlight, holy shit. She looked so fucking smug. Did you see her face?”

“Shut up,” Derek mutters but there's a smile on his lips despite his tone.

Stiles is laughing. How can he not smile?

“Man,” Stiles breathes out sharply, apparently done with laughing. “That was not how I was planning on telling everyone that we're together, lemme tell you.”

Derek pauses for a second, then he lifts his head and looks at Stiles.

“How did you plan it, then?” he asks.

“Well,” Stiles says and kisses him briefly. “First, I was gonna take you on an actual date, although I feel like we've been on a lot of dates already without even realizing it. But I mean, like, a _real_ date where we both know it's a date and I get to give you flowers and hold the door for you and be all gross and romantic, all that shit.”

Derek stares at him. “You'd wanna do that?”

“I mean, yeah. Don't you?”

Derek opens his mouth but no words come out.

“We don't have to do that,” Stiles hurries to say, loosening his grip a little. “Or anything like that. We're only gonna do whatever you're comfortable with.”

Derek shakes his head, looks down a little. “It's not that. It's just–”

“What?” Stiles asks softly when he doesn't finish.

“Your dick is poking my hip.”

“Okay, one, we were literally just making out and if you expect me to be unaffected by that, you're the dumbest man I know. And two, don't change the subject.”

Derek snorts and smiles a little, but he doesn't say anything.

Stiles steps back, leaving space between them. The sudden rush of air is cold and makes Derek shiver, but then Stiles grabs his hand and drags him to the porch furniture where they sit side by side, pressed against each other for both warmth and intimacy. Stiles doesn't let go of his hand, instead he threads their fingers together and kisses the back of Derek's hand before he drops them into his lap.

Derek stares down at their hands for a minute. When he looks at Stiles, he finds him already looking back with a look in his eyes that Derek would almost say is concerned.

“Talk to me, Derek,” Stiles says, rubbing his thumb over Derek's hand.

Derek hesitates, then he says, “I'm having a hard time feeling like I deserve any of that.”

“Okay,” Stiles says and nods. “We're gonna work on that. But, are you comfortable if I do treat you to something like that? 'Cause I won't if you're not. All you gotta do is say no.”

Derek smiles at him and leans in to kiss him softly before he can tell himself not to. Stiles kisses him back with a quiet hum, which makes the kiss that Derek intended to be nothing more than a few seconds last longer.

Until Stiles pulls back to say, “Stop distracting me, asshole.”

“Yes,” Derek says, staying close. “I'm okay with it.”

Stiles smiles at him, big and wide.

“Awesome,” he says. “Now we can kiss, come here.”

Derek shakes his head at him, a fond smile on his lips. He lets himself get pulled in for yet another kiss, squeezing the hand in his.

He feels warm despite the cold, Stiles wrapped around him and whispering _I love you_ s against his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	9. Chapter 9

The air around him is freezing cold but Derek doesn't shiver, barely even feels it. He doesn't know how long he's been standing there, in the same spot and still, but then again, he hasn't really been keeping track of time either. He knows it has gone quiet around him and that the sky has gone dark above him, moon full on the starry and clouded sky.

He hasn't been able to move from this spot since the funeral ended. No matter how much he tries to get himself to do anything but stand here, he can't. He can't move nor can he look away from the name engraved on the tombstone.

Laura Hale.

She's buried next to their parents, right alongside the rest of the Hale family. Her grave is big and gorgeous with an over-dramatic arrangement of flowers decorating her tombstone. It's surprising how many flowers there are, considering how few people actually attended her funeral.

It was nothing big but she was loved and everyone there got a chance to prove it, whether that was in words or tears or, like in Derek's case, as many flowers as they could carry and then some.

She would have approved, had she been there to witness it. She always did say she wanted her funeral to be quiet in reality but loud in the hearts of whoever attended, because they both started thinking about their own funeral after the fire. Neither of them seriously planned anything but they occasionally threw out ideas, things they wanted when they eventually died.

She also used to say, or rather threaten, that she was coming back to haunt everyone after. Derek is still waiting for that, assumes he will be waiting for the rest of his life.

Everyone else has left by now, a long time ago. Derek should be leaving too, there are going to be people waiting for him back at the farm, but he can't move. He's not crying, barely even shed a tear during the whole ceremony, but his throat feels tight and he knows that he is only a second away from breaking.

There are footsteps coming up behind him, slow but deliberately heavy. He doesn't turn around, doesn't even glance toward whoever is approaching, not even when they come to a stop next to him. He knows who it is without having to look, the hand slipping into his own and gripping on tightly is a dead giveaway. He knows those hands.

They stand there for a while, hands tightly wrapped around each other and neither saying a word. It takes him a while but, eventually, Derek breaks the silence.

“They didn't deserve this,” he says in a quiet, wavering voice.

“I know,” Stiles says softly. “Neither did you.”

Derek takes in a deep breath. It's shaky and unsteady when it comes back out a second later, and he tightens his grip around the hand in his because he knows he can't fight for much longer. Stiles squeezes back, holding on tightly.

“I miss them,” Derek says after a minute, voice finally breaking.

Stiles moves instantly. He lets go of his hand and hugs him, arms wrapping tightly around him and one hand cradling the back of Derek's head while the other smooths down his back in long, comforting strokes.

Derek clings onto him, buries his face in Stiles' shoulder, and closes his eyes when he feels himself start to break. All it take is for Stiles to whisper _I've got you_ in his ear and he can no longer put up a fight against the tears that have been threatening to fall all day.

“It's okay,” Stiles whispers quietly. “I've got you, just let it out.”

Derek does, crying until he no longer can and then letting Stiles cup his face, wipe his wet cheeks, and kiss him softly. Hand in hand, they walk back to the parking lot where both Cora and Isaac are waiting for them.

Neither of them say anything about Derek's state, although they both clearly notice.

The ride back to the house is quiet. Derek spends it staring out the window, Cora's hand in his.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Derek opens the closet door and looks down at the box shoved into the back of it, nearly hidden underneath all the other garbage that has been shoved into here over the years, left untouched and to do nothing but collect dust and take up space. He stares down at it for a long minute, grip tight around the door handle, before he lets out a breath and crouches down.

Getting the box out from underneath everything isn't as difficult as he thought it would be, considering the fact that the box hasn't been touched in years. When the box is free and sitting in front of him on the floor, he doesn't hesitate before he pulls the lid up and off. If he let himself hesitate, he might end up getting cold feet and shove the thing right back, and he doesn't want to do that.

Moving forward, that's what this is about. Not backwards or standing still, not anymore.

Very few things survived the fire. There are a few jewelries put away in various small cases inside the box, one or two family pictures with only the edges a little burned, his mother's recipe book but that's not in the box, one of his dad's favorite watches, a stuffed animal, and a handful of other things.

Derek doesn't look at them all, doubts he can handle going through it. Instead he digs into the box and pulls out one of the family photos, the one that has been put in a new frame and the one where the bottom right and a bit of the top is burned. But the important part is still whole, the Hale family's faces are still smiling back at him.

They're young, all of them. Young and alive and happy.

Ir's weird seeing himself like this; so young and barefaced and with his hair short above his ears, smiling so wide that the baby fat still on his face becomes more pronounced. He barely even recognizes himself but then again, that picture was taken a long time ago. A lot has happened since, he's not the same person as the boy in this picture.

It's weird seeing Cora like this, too. She hasn't really changed much, personality wise. She still prefers to make faces whenever a camera is pointed at her, whether that means a scowl or sticking her tongue out or something completely different. She's smiling in this picture but her arms are crossed, like a silent statement that she is not happy about it.

Seeing Laura, his parents, even Peter, that's another thing. His heart hurts a little when he looks at them, hurts with sorrow and guilt. He misses them more than he can ever put into words. But looking at them also makes him smile. They really were happy in that moment, blissfully unaware of the horrors waiting to happen.

Derek takes in a breath and clutches the framed photograph in his hands. He swallows back the urge to cry, stands, and heads down the hall toward the living room. Once there, he pauses for a moment to look around, eyes searching for the perfect spot. It's not hard to find, considering the lack of _anything_ in this place.

He places the photograph on the half full shelf in the bookcase, angling it so you can see it among the books filling out the rest of it. He takes a few steps back and looks at it, smiles because it looks good. It _feels_ good, having put up the first piece to make this place a home. A _real_ home, not a hiding spot.

Derek stands there and looks at it for a moment, but then there's a bark and laughter flowing in from the kitchen and his attention gets pulled away. The smile grows a little wider on his lips when he turns to walk out of the living room and follow the sound of laughter and Randy's familiar and playful growling to the kitchen.

By the island sits Boyd. He's found the brownies that Derek made a couple of days ago, the plate already missing a good chunk. He looks shameless about it too, like always. Erica has her arms wrapped around his neck, leaning on him with her chin hooked over his shoulder and their heads resting against each other.

Cora is sitting to Boyd's right, her phone in hand and eyes on the screen while her thumbs tap away. Isaac is standing near the fridge, making himself something to eat while he chews on a grisini stick. Near him is Stiles, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and a wide grin on his lips, showing off a row of white teeth.

Randy is trotting around on the floor, a toy in his mouth and tail wagging wildly behind him. He's obviously looking for attention which he gets in absent pets whenever he passes someone. He manages to make Isaac grab the toy and let him tug a few times, but Isaac never stops preparing his food, even when Randy growls and tugs harder.

Derek watches them, a smile on his lips. He lost one family but, along the way, he found another. This one. It's small, everyone carrying a lot of baggage with them, but it's his and he loves them.

Stiles is the one to notice him first, his wide and toothy grin turning into a soft smile when their eyes lock. He holds out an arm in a silent invitation and Derek's feet move on their own until he can slide up next to Stiles and into his welcoming embrace.

Stiles rests a hand on Derek's hip and squeezes a little, pulling him flush to his side. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, his lips lingering for a second before he pulls back again. He doesn't go far though, stays close.

“Hey, baby,” he says low in his ear, just for Derek.

Derek smiles, acknowledges the warmth rising to his ears, and leans into him.

From the island, Cora makes an obnoxious gagging noise.

“Gross,” she says. “Get a room.”

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles says. “You're just mad that you don't have your girlfriend here so you can be gross too.”

“We're never gross.”

“Oh really? I highly doubt that.”

“That's fine, it doesn't change anything.”

“You're stupid. Derek, your sister is stupid.”

“Derek, your boyfriend is stupid.”

“Wow, nice comeback.”

“Thanks.”

The two of them continue to bicker but Derek tunes them out when Randy comes trotting over and sits down in front of him. There's a toy dangling from his mouth, his eyes are big and pleading, and his ears are perked while his tail slides across the floor. Derek smiles down at him and reaches out to grab the toy, holding on tight while Randy starts tugging.

Derek still has a long way to go before he's even remotely okay. But he has his family and a number to a therapist for whenever he's ready and he's not alone. Putting up the picture of the Hale family is a reminder of that, just like the people around him is one.

He has a long way to go but he has taken the first step forward on the rocky road of recovery, and he doesn't have to travel the rest alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next; the epilogue.
> 
> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	10. Epilogue

_**three months later** _

 

Derek can't sleep. He's been trying for hours but with no luck. Every time he closes his eyes and tries to let his mind come to a blank, it only takes a few minutes before he finds himself staring, and occasionally glaring, at the ceiling above him, frustrated and exhausted yet somehow still wide awake despite it.

Randy is sound asleep by his feet, curled in on himself and snoring softly in the quiet room. Next to him, sprawled out on his stomach with his head turned away from Derek, is Stiles who is also sound asleep but there's no snoring, only a steady breathing and the occasional shifting. He's got an arm thrown over Derek's stomach, a weight that Derek has found to be comforting over the few months the two of them have been together.

The rest of the house is quiet, Isaac having gone to bed an hour or so ago too, and Derek should be able to fall asleep. He should but he can't. It's frustrating and annoying and, after trying and failing for so long, he finally gives up. He can't sleep, might as well do something productive instead of laying around and only getting more frustrated and grumpy about it.

He gently moves Stiles' arm off of his stomach and gets out of bed as quietly as he can. Stiles doesn't wake but Randy does the second Derek starts moving and he follows him hurriedly out of the bedroom after Derek has put on some sweatpants and redone his hair into a bun.

As quietly as he can, Derek closes the door after himself and Randy and heads down the stairs and into the kitchen. Randy stretches, yawns, and goes straight to his basket where he promptly falls back asleep with a soft huff.

Meanwhile, Derek picks up his mother's recipe book and starts flipping through it. It's too dark to go out and get started on the farm, so he decides to stick with baking something. It doesn't really matter which of them he does, he gets the same result; relax him and keep him occupied.

Derek decides to make oatmeal cookies after checking to make sure he has everything he needs. He does, fortunately. He's made these cookies countless times before and he nearly has the recipe memorized, but he finds himself glancing at it every once in a while anyway, both to make sure he's doing it right and to see his mother's handwriting again.

He's a good while into making the batter, sleeves rolled up above his elbows and shirt dusted with flour, when a voice comes from behind him, disturbing the quiet in the kitchen that he has been enjoying.

“What 're you doing?”

Derek whips his head around and looks at Stiles who is standing in the doorway. His hair is a mess and he's still in his sleep clothes, one pajama leg ridden up to above his knee that he hasn't bothered shoving down. He's yawning and rubbing at his eye. He looks barely awake.

“What are _you_ doing?” Derek retaliates.

Stiles stretches with a groan and says, “Wondering why my boyfriend left in the middle of the night to make, uh... what 're you making, baby?”

Derek opens his mouth to answer, but then Stiles shuffles into the kitchen and heavily sits down by the island. He yawns again, and Derek gives him a deadpan look.

“Go back to bed, idiot,” he says.

“No,” Stiles says around a yawn. “Wanna keep you company. Be a good boyfriend 'nd all that.”

“You're not even awake.”

“I'm so awake, I could beat you in arm wrestling.”

“You couldn't even do that if you were actually awake.”

“Oh, look at me,” Stiles says in a mocking voice. “I'm Derek Hale and I'm Superman. I can lift my whole damn tractor and beat my boyfriend in arm wrestling with my pinky, la-di-da.”

Derek rolls his eyes and bites back a smile when Stiles yawns again, mouth dropping wide open.

“Oh my God,” Stiles groans, slumping over the island. “It's in the middle of the goddamn night, Derek. Why are you baking?”

With a shrug, Derek turns back around. “Couldn't sleep,” he says.

Stiles is silent for a minute. “Nightmares again?” he asks.

“No,” Derek says and sighs. “Just restless, I guess.”

Stiles hums softly.

“I'd help with that,” he says in a mumble, “but you're right. I'm definitely not awake.”

“Then go back to bed, idiot.”

“Can't,” Stiles whines. “'m too tired. Carry me.”

Derek rolls his eyes exasperatedly but he puts down what he has in his hands and quickly dusts himself off before he walks over to the island and to Stiles' side to do exactly that. Stiles leans into him easily, making a pleased hum once Derek has picked him up in his arms, bridal style.

“You're comfy,” Stiles mumbles, nuzzling against Derek's chest.

“And you're heavy,” Derek says and heads toward the stairs.

Behind them, Randy comes trotting along curiously. He only steps in the way a little bit, but then they make it to the bedroom and Derek tells him to stay so he does, sitting down by the door and watching instead of following.

By the time Derek puts Stiles back in bed, Stiles is already fast asleep again. Derek smiles down at him and pulls the duvet over him, tucking him in. Brushing a hand through his hair, he leans down and kisses his forehead softly before he leaves the bedroom again, closing the door behind him.

With Randy by his side, Derek returns to the kitchen and finishes making the cookies. While they're in the oven, he takes Randy outside to let him take a piss and run around a bit. Randy gets his breakfast right before the timer goes off and while he happily munches it down, Derek takes the cookies out of the oven.

They turn out pretty good, in his opinion. When they get up, Isaac and Stiles wholeheartedly agree.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Almost three months ago, barely a week after Kate was put in prison for life, Cora returned home to Colombia which was no surprise since that was always the plan. Derek had feared that with them being miles apart again, it would make them return to old and bad habits of avoiding each other and they would end up losing contact again, not working on their relationship like they promised.

They haven't, not yet and probably never.

They text frequently during the week, talking about everything and anything and nothing. Cora even let him have her girlfriend's number so they can get to know each other outside of her relationship with his sister.

“She's great,” Cora had said. “But if you start telling embarrassing stories, I'm coming over and cutting your hair off.”

Derek had smiled and said, “No promises.”

On top of their frequent text conversations, they also have lunch together every day. Since they don't live anywhere near each other, either of them, which usually ends up being Cora, will facetime the other and they'll eat their lunch while they talk.

It's nice and surprisingly not as awkward as Derek had first thought it would be. They're just brother and sister, and it's nice being able to do that daily, to see her face instead of just reading her texts.

This is what he does now, three months into freedom. He has his lunch prepared in front of him and his phone in hand, Cora's face taking up the screen of it. Isaac is sitting beside him, eating his own lunch and leaning into frame to be a part of the conversation too.

“It's like he wants me to punch him in the face,” Cora is saying around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Get a new roommate,” Derek says and stabs his fork into his salad for a bite.

“No,” Cora says. “Lucas is practically my best friend. I'm not gonna kick him out just 'cause he drives me insane.”

“Maybe he has a crush on you.”

Cora gives him a flat look. “He's gay.”

“Maybe he has a crush on your brother,” Isaac says.

Cora blinks, then makes a face. “Ew.”

“I'm sitting right here,” Derek deadpans.

Cora ignores him. “Lucas doesn't have a crush on anyone,” she says. “He's just an asshole.”

“Be an asshole back,” Isaac suggests.

“Fight fire with fire,” Derek supplies.

Slowly, Cora grins. “Not a bad idea.”

Derek rolls his eyes and smiles, unable to stop himself from doing it.

“Don't take it too far,” he says.

“Fuck that,” Cora scoffs. “He started it.”

Derek laughs a little, shaking his head. They chat for another good few minutes while all three of them finish their lunch. Derek forgets to keep track of time and Cora is in the middle of telling him about a new job offer she got, when Isaac pokes at him to get his attention.

“What?” Derek asks, turning to him.

“Remember you gotta take me to class,” Isaac says.

Derek blinks, then whirls around to look at the clock hanging in the kitchen. It's already way later than he thought, which means they're a minute from running late.

“Shit,” he curses and gets up. “Cora, we gotta get going. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Hold on a second,” Cora says.

Derek stops, halfway to the dishwasher with his empty bowl. He steps out of the way to let Isaac put his things away and raises the phone in his hand to look at the screen. Cora is smiling back at him, small but there.

“Good luck today,” she says.

Derek smiles and says, “Thanks.”

Cora hangs up with one last _bye_ , and then Derek turns to Isaac. He reaches over to ruffle his hair briefly, grinning when Isaac groans and shoves him away before going to the nearest reflection to fix it again.

While Derek cleans the kitchen up a little, Isaac goes to his room to get his bag and whatever else he needs. Randy trots after them when they go to get their boots and jackets on, whining sadly when Derek tells him to stay put.

It's always heartbreaking to leave him behind but Derek took him out on an extra long walk this morning, so he should be asleep for the few hours he's home alone.

Derek wouldn't be surprised if he comes home to find something chewed to pieces anyway.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Isaac started taking classes in town about a month ago. It's only a few times a week so he can get a proper education and hopefully get into a decent college some day, but he's made a few friends there and he's actually excited to go now. At first, he was almost too anxious to leave the house so it's nice to see him enjoy it as much as he does.

Derek drops him off at the entrance, promising to pick him up again when he's done. He sits there and watches after him for maybe a little too long, watching until Isaac is inside the building and out of his view.

It's then that it hits him; he really does act like a parent.

“Damn it, Erica,” he mutters quietly to himself and hurries to drive off before it can get even more pathetic. He does have his own appointment to get to, after all.

When he gets there, he doesn't leave his car immediately. The building is nothing special. It looks pretty much like any other building in this area; not too small or too big. It's not the outside that terrifies him though. No, it's what, or rather _who_ , is waiting for him inside.

Derek stays there for a minute, then he takes in a deep breath and gets out of his car to walk inside.

His therapist is a woman who introduces herself as Tanya. She's short, brown, and looks like the kind of person who could easily kick someone's ass without breaking a sweat, but there's a friendly and warm smile on her face when she holds her hand out and greets him in kindness.

Derek thinks he's going to like her.

 

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

 

Afterward, when his hour is up and Tanya sends him off with some things to think about, Derek drives straight to the FBI headquarter in town. This time, he doesn't hesitate to go inside, only grabs the container that sits on the passenger seat before he gets out of his parked car and heads inside the building.

Jane, the receptionist, greets him with a smile when he approaches, and he greets her back. She gets his guest pass ready in a few minutes that he spends in casual conversation with her. He's tired after therapy, more mentally than physically, but Jane is a nice person who he has started to even consider a friend, so he doesn't mind all that much.

With the pass clipped to his jacket, Derek heads up to the right floor. Allison is the first person he sees there. He doesn't stop to greet her nor does she stop him. They smile at each other as they pass, nodding in a silent greeting. She looks busy, file in hand and bags under her eyes, so even if he wanted to, he wouldn't have stopped her.

Derek finds Stiles quick, sitting by his desk and chewing on a pen while he switches between flipping through a file that he has open in front of him and looking at his computer. However, when Derek approaches after nodding a quick hello to Kira when he passes her desk, Stiles looks up from his work and immediately abandons it as stands with a smile growing on his lips.

“Hey, Derek,” he greets him and leans in to kiss his cheek.

“Hey,” Derek greets him back, then lifts the container between them. “Brought you lunch.”

Stiles' smile turns soft. Instead of taking the container, he cups Derek's face in his hands.

“You are the best boyfriend a guy could ever ask for,” he says, before he leans in to kiss him on the lips.

For a moment, Derek forgets that they're in an office full of people. He forgets because Stiles kisses him so softly yet so firmly that it's all he can focus on.

It's been three months of this and more, and kissing Stiles still feels like a dream.

He forgets that they're in public until there's a pointed cough next to them. It makes them both lean away, breaking the kiss. Curious and ignoring the warmth flooding his face, Derek turns and looks at Danny who gives them pointed looks from his desk.

“PDA, Stiles,” he says as a reminder.

“Shut up, Danny,” Stiles says and stays in Derek's space. “You're just jealous.”

“I have my own boyfriend,” Danny says, turning back to his work. “Thanks.”

“But does he come to the office just to give you lunch? I don't think so.”

“I'm not starting a boyfriend war with you.”

“Ha!” Stiles exclaims and grins widely, throwing a fist in the air. “That means I win by default!”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You're an idiot,” he tells him.

Stiles pouts, while Danny laughs.

“I agree,” he says.

“You're supposed to be on my side,” Stiles says to Derek.

“Not when you're being an idiot,” Derek says.

Stiles sticks his tongue out at him, then reaches down to grab his hand.

“Fine,” he says. “But you're gonna have to spend lunch with this idiot, so suck it up.”

“How terrible,” Derek says dryly and lets Stiles drag him along.

They find a quiet, private spot under a tree behind the building. It's chilly out here which Stiles uses as an excuse to wiggle under Derek's arm and lean into him. Derek calls him an idiot again but doesn't move his arm away. Rather, he wraps it further around Stiles to pull him closer and leans in to kiss the side of his head.

Stiles kisses him properly on the lips after he's opened the container though, thanking him for making and bringing him lunch. The kiss tiptoes around the edge of a make out, because they're alone with no one around to tell them to stop. But right as Derek gets his tongue into Stiles' mouth, Stiles' stomach rumbles loudly and they break apart laughing.

Stiles happily starts eating, humming in approval with each mouthful. Derek smiles at him and focuses on his boyfriend rather than the exhaustion that's starting to settle over him. He still has to go home and take care of his crops, he can't afford to be tired right now but he is.

“By the way,” Stiles says after a few minutes. “How did your session go today?”

“I don't know,” Derek says with a sigh. “Okay, I think.”

“Exhausting, right?” Stiles says and grabs his hand. “But you're doing it and I'm proud of you, baby.”

Derek smiles, cheeks and ears warm.

“Thanks,” he says and kisses his cheek.

“I remember when I went to therapy,” Stiles says. “After my mom died. It was fucking terrible and I hated it at first. But, I needed it. It never really got any less exhausting because it's an hour or so of bearing your soul to someone and that's terrifying and tiring but worth it in the end. It gets easier to deal with.”

Derek hums, resting his head against Stiles'.

“Unless your therapist sucks,” Stiles continues. “Then get another one.”

Derek huffs out a chuckle but says nothing. He's too tired to hold a conversation, he just wants to sit here and enjoy Stiles' presence, listen to his voice and feel his heartbeat under his palm and not think about anything but him.

He could fall asleep like this, he thinks after a while. Despite the chilly weather, he feels warm and content.

Sometimes, it still amazes him that he has found something like this, something this good. It still feels a bit surreal to know that he loves Stiles and Stiles loves him back and it's not complicated or hard. It's not easy because no relationship is, especially not theirs. Not when they're both a little messed up and have a lot of baggage.

But they're good together. Derek never thought he could have something good and now he's here; with Stiles to love and get loved back and a family to call his. It doesn't always feel real and, occasionally, he has days where he wakes up with that feeling of wrong that makes him paranoid and on edge.

It's getting better, though. Slowly but surely, it's getting better. He's working on it.

“Hey,” Stiles says softly, cutting in through his wandering thoughts.

Derek opens his eyes, not even realizing he'd closed them. He hums in response and looks at Stiles, smiling a little when he sees Stiles doing the same.

Stiles kisses him softly, then says, “I love you.”

Derek smiles. “I know.”

Stiles' mouth drops open in a gape and he leans back a little to stare at him. In return, Derek lets his smile turn into a smug grin.

“You did not just go that,” Stiles says and swats at him.

Derek laughs but he doesn't get to for long before Stiles shuts him up with a kiss.

Derek still has a long way to go before he's okay again, but he's getting there with the help of this group of people that he's found to call a family, this group of people that give him hope for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand, we're done! Thank you to everyone who read, left kudos and/or comments! <3
> 
> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/169893276243).


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